POETRY



Mother Bird

we didn’t have much, but my mother carried an invisible bag around her strong neck went out searching for food and found tidbits of affection, small sovereigns of love she wandered all day while we were at school would gather …

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The Wrong Colour

The tea room on the top floor of our workplace looked down the street to the hospital. One morning someone at our table asked ‘what’s the oily smoke coming from atop the hospital?’ Unwittingly, I said, being a hospital, they …

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Milk River

(after Agnes Martin) I can barely stay on it look at it (now seeing that I’ve become frightened of you) areas of dark white move like fish beneath like bruises—rounded, spoken: submerged garden pressing to flower after having flowered. border …

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House fitting : surprisingly

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reply

I send the message, waiting waiting read restless a bramble of thorns underneath my skin and then a bouncing ellipsis ·.. .·. ..· like manna rained down a reply a sunbeam struck down to the earth plunged into my sternum …

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Farewell to Sweet Pea

Then there were two of us. Shoving, spitting, yelling on that boat. We could no longer see the shore. I thought about my father, who taught me to hold a fish by the mouth with its belly facing outwards so …

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damn drop

trying to breastfeed in the rain over my grandmother’s grave I express more tears than milk. they run down the face of the smartphone I hold to my cheek with one stiff shoulder (half an hour on hold with the …

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HANGOUTWHOLE

book a space by the river––not too close to the tangle weed friend dive for hours in the most severely dimpled wells these tender fingers tease fret from air throw clay from their whole like… an instinctual animal remember the …

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Returning

I: Day One Wombat is perfect. Lies as if resting, lies on gravel road as if it were cool burrow. A narrow stream slowly pools beneath her nose, blood thickening as it flows. These hands alone can’t move her heft; …

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Sand whiting

A thing dropped into a clear pool will draw fish seeking food. So Dante and Beatrice were received by ambitious hungry lights in the second circle of paradise. And so it is in limpid waves behind the shore-break at Bar …

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Poems from “I Look at My Body and See the Source of My Shame: Ecstasy Facsimile”

1 My favorite saint tells me I complain too often about my soul’s shortcomings, I’m grateful 2 for the dreams I remember, W— pushes apart my thighs and asks in Punjabi when I’ll finish, nothing in this world more beautiful …

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The landscape changes

we are not lovers, now climbing a jagged mountain on weak joints can one avoid twisted pain? making an effort widens fault lines climbing a jagged mountain on weak joints I crack when not seen making an effort widens fault …

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