When Utah Stopped Selling Liquor at 6
when you are not around
a tree falls loudly
adding another rib to the forest
and larvae pulse like
contented stomachs, the beating heart
becomes a beetle
have you ever seen my heart?
the grub that releases early
an obvious black insect on the snow
the heart that loved you so much
straight away, but couldn’t have
so it was buried. a mind
that is more like a shovel. a chest
in need of filling. a walk without
its mention, except that it was with you
to a Pizza Hut in Moab. a group of local kids
hid-out in cars and turned on their
headlights as we passed
then they turned them off. it felt as if
we had been cleansed of something
we didn’t know was on us
Reblogged this on Reconsiderations and commented:
I like this!
Britt, I don’t know anyone else who writes quite the way you do. You have an original voice. I have never read a poem of yours I did not enjoy, pause over, think over, even puzzle over.
Great stuff, as always.
I’m excited that you said puzzle. David Sedaris spoke on a podcast I listen to about the reason for poetry – he called it the “pleasure of puzzlement.” I quite like that.
I guess that’s the fantasy for me, that my words could spend longer in your head than the time it takes to read them.
That’s a good fantasy. I think I’d like the same thing to happen with my own poems.