"I Step Into the Refrigerator and Curl" by Connor Willett

[audio mp3="http://barnstormjournal.org/content/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/I-Step-Into-the-Refrigerator-and-Curl-2.mp3"][/audio]Everything is dead, never alive, or preserved.Florescence purer than dirt.I am a white man, in a white refrigerator, in a mountain state.What does that even mean?Sartre slapped me silly and my tears receded—glacial-like, crystal white—to an archipelago of meaning.White, white, white. I never even thought about ituntil now.That’s a lie. I think about lots of things,I thought about that,(I found a book and became an ist-ic-ian,then the rain began)and I owe everyone something,and I promise I’m working on it. I am a second-year poet at the University of Montana. I grew up in southern Indiana but moved to San Francisco a week after my undergrad. I love bluegrass and fly-fishing, though I don't catch much. I'm enamored with Ralph Stanley and I'd like to think he can live forever if he keeps singing "Oh Death." I am the poetry editor for the wonderful CutBank Literary Journal and I just finished teaching a poetry workshop at the university (which was quite possibly the most fun I've had in a long time). I like to think I'm a nice guy and I'm extremely honored to be in this edition of Barnstorm.