Original

By JACQUELYN POPE 
Girl when you get lost
the forest will find you
tame you   take you over.

Pocket of breadcrumbs
and birdsong. Pocket of rocks. 


The ends of town   the noise
of home are lost
where you go digging down

and out   and under
furrowed in mud and stone.
When you rise and run

remember   the good black silt
of these good green days

tilt of this time   beaten fast
then faster ground given shape
and shine   its living part

where you bloom   like a dare
worked out of the dark.

 

Jacquelyn Pope is the author of Watermark. Hungerpots, her translations of the Dutch poet Hester Knibbe, is forthcoming. She is the recipient of a 2015 NEA Translation Fellowship, a PEN/Heim Translation Fund grant, and awards from the Academy of American Poets and the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

[Purchase your copy of Issue 02 here.]

Original

Related Posts

Leila Chatti

My Sentimental Afternoon

LEILA CHATTI
Around me, the stubborn trees. Here / I was sad and not sad, I looked up / at a caravan of clouds. Will you ever / speak to me again, beyond / my nightly resurrections? My desire / displaces, is displaced. / The sun unrolls black shadows / which halve me. I stand.

picture of dog laying on the ground, taken by bfishadow in flickr

Call and Response

TREY MOODY
My grandmother likes to tell me dogs / understand everything you say, they just can’t / say anything back. We’re eating spaghetti / while I visit from far away. My grandmother / just turned ninety-four and tells me dogs / understand everything you say. / They just can’t say anything back.