POETRY



Grackle

Sun-white and ravenous, a parking lot empties into a bird’s eye. Eyes white, the bird, un-ravened, empties its slotted beak of glottal stops. I, empty and white, raven the bird’s cackle. The bird, unholiest of the lot, hides not its …

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For Louise Bourgeois

In Charlotte’s Web, a pig watches as a matriarch wraps five hundred children in silk. In your gallery, each infant has grown into its power legs in bronze and steel spread across the room. We’ve been taught not to invite …

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It Gets Easier

I see what looks like trouble, something that doesn’t fit, a writhing and twisting near the new-leafed tree as if two bare branches have fallen but live their own lives under some dark curse. What I find is a braid …

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December Moment

A wintry morning, the ground covered in hoarfrost, the sun a red bull behind a metallic haze, the brittle branches of the trees, tender and graceful, as if sketched in India ink on silk, gray with a violet shimmer, and …

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Silt

Back then, roadtrips and hiking trails all led to sacred rock: Cathedrals sandstone, Blueies granite, Moonarie quartzite, a dolerite middle finger smashed by the wind and waves in Fortescue Bay, my hands freezing to the rope, as I watched your …

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Corolla

A barrow is wheeled into place. Sparrows the colour of buckwheat. Two neat runners of treated pine Sleepers, more broadly divine The intentions of the day. Scurrilous cross-hatching lies sketched At each unpicked hem of reinforcing for The concrete marrow …

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Diagnosis

It’s getting hard for me to remember what it was like before I was a tree. What the news reports don’t tell you is how this all started as a little pain between my legs. A small throb. I thought …

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God’s good old China

Everywhere you go is walking under heaven. In those ruins east of Pusan Road where the Shanghainese had homes before the Chinese Dream, in that block of broken houses and farm fields run wild locked in by that white-washed propaganda-picture-bearing …

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Psalm 19b

Let me stand at a door that opens to ocean ride on an orca under water, then up and out of it leaping. Let me call to forests a name they’ve forgotten their leaves breathe a breath from the mouths …

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The Mechanical Garden

To think, to know that this precise angle of light, this hue of sunset dripped all over the marina, and this turn in the convo were all caused, to a microscopic t, to the slightest twist of All paths turn …

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Fishers of Men

Fishing provides that connection with the whole living world. —Ted Hughes The buoys hang wet between small crosses Of clotheslines in a stubborn lean; The creak of wood on wood and bolts pitted with rust, The nets slump in exhaustion …

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thylacine

it’s like someone told me once to lean into the pain now i am always leaning into the pain i am leaning in too much i am sticking my neck out and playing chicken with pain i am shouting come …

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