Erasure

By DAVID LIVEWELL

High up on fire escapes the schoolgirls clapped
erasers, chalk dust floating in a cloud,
the words and numbers scripted by the nuns
freed to autumnal treetops. Often girls
would stamp their names in chalk on the brick walls,
reminding us, like ashes, “dust to dust.”
Beneath this task the cemetery slept,
the Celtic crosses propped like dolmens on
a quiet glen in County Clare. Down steps
was the boys’ bathroom, just an outdoor shed
that froze in winter, stunk in spring. We feared
the dead might clench our ankles till they pulled
us down into their moss-furred crypts. When running
the slated path from school to shed, we glimpsed
a chiseled Irish name or cherub face that rain
and time attempted to erase. I sensed
the corpses’ slow decay, small piles of chalk,
the former schoolboys damned to run no more.

David Livewell is the author of Shackamaxon, winner of the 2012 T.S. Eliot Prize from Truman State University Press.

[Click here to purchase your copy of Issue 07]

Erasure

Related Posts

Headshots of Miller and Gill

Marie-Andrée Gill: Poems in Translation from SPAWN

MARIE-ANDREE GILL
Marie-Andrée Gill’s Spawn is a surprising, colorful, virtuosic collection. Its brief, untitled poems span ’90s-kid nostalgia, the life cycle of fresh-water salmon, a coming of age, and the natural landscape of the Mashteuiatsh reserve, centered on Lake Piekuakami

Saudade

DIPIKA MUKHERJEE
In Itaparica, the beach broods / under ruddy sky. Two fishermen / and I search waves spitting / shells: ribbed green, a crown / for a queen; a conch; an obelisk; / a whorled shell; a thin swell / pink modica of a disc.

image of ceramic toy walmart

December 2019 Poetry Feature: New Poems for the Holiday Season

ADAM SCHEFFLER
A poem can’t tell you what it’s like / to be 83 and seven hours deep / into a Christmas Eve shift / at Walmart, cajoling / beeps from objects like the secret / name each of us will never / be sweetly called, can’t show / you her face and eyes like the