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November 1, 2016 | Poetry

Two Poems

Claire Gordon

Two Poems photo

Your Names

Dirty Paris rainwater.
Rivulets. Another coffee.
Punishment. Bone trough.
Muscles that prop a wheelbarrow.
Little island.

Cat-eyes.
Dark ring with a pink center.
Shovel-heads. Sweet angel.
Blue brick.
Fire; flight; twitch.
Voice rich with smoke.
Ribs as whalebones.


New Therapist

What would it look like for you to be loved well?

Your face, my light. What terrible things I’d do for it.

Blackberry bushes. Red buds. My underwear is tight and red like these and stop signs. Off fast too.

I say help, stop, save my. My words bubble up and fail to make purchase with the surface. My body, fluids, I’m drowning, help, fluids. I candle-burned become three times flayed and a saint. A saint, rimmed in gold. 

 

image: Aaron Burch


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