•
In right lockstitch
snared and split some fire-supper cooked on sticks.
•
By dawn the older brother took to chucking
what bottle-frags he could find and crud-oysters across.
The (high-pitched) younger blacked our waters
with a yowl.
•
Lord the sound such as rose from him
carried so—
Carved
into us. Clings.
•
Hadn’t they clung tooth and claw to branch and bark.
—Came a man (and truck) to take them off.
•
Dieseled those boys off
away
some say somewheres upcountry,
inland.
•
Where it was they landed (why) nobody not them knows.
•
No body not them knows
just how they humped and grubbled home
what road they’d graved what woods criss-crossed
which creeks which trains they’d hopped who helped.
•
Came safe home sure but blank as houses.
Came safe home —as him —and him.
—as (evermore) not them.
I've been thinking about this poem since it came up on my "Poem of the Day" podcast yesterday. (Audio of the poet reading it here.) I remember reading it in Poetry Magazine not too long ago. (Okay--apparently it was published in April 2011.) Anyway, I find it quite powerful--sad, mysterious, and inventive. The unusual spacing and margins are intentional, really forcing you to think about words and the spaces between words.
1 comment:
I love this poem--for, as you said, its unusual positioning and language. It really makes you slow down and consider it. Thank you for posting it. :)
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