The Manhattan Review
The Manhattan Review
Established 1980

Archive > Vol. 13 no. 1


M. T. C. Cronin

Inside the Comma,


the pause goes on...

Memories are trapped
in a now that’s passed.

Observation might reveal what you see
but not necessarily if you see it.

The piano is like rice—
broken into a thousand lives.

No number is itself
when other numbers are around.

Ten poems are better than three
if you are learning to count.

In the idea
birth is given birth to.

Translate infinity into human
and you will be reading it forever.

The disaster starts at a point

Hope sits crookedly
on the world.

The star in the apple
shines for every blind eye.

The fog is as beautiful
as the face I am waiting to see.

Waiting is the only experience
that is overfilled.

Your greatest wish
is just a wish.

Loneliness is a very fine mist
that settles in hearts turned upside-down.

The world becomes aware of your discomfort
by dying around you.

The prophesier huddles begging
in fate’s cold city.

Time grows in your hand
until your hand outgrows it.

Rocks sleep
while the hyphen dashes.

While inside the comma,
the life of the pause goes on...