Cold Pastoral. Rebecca Dunham

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СКАЧАТЬ all nature needs

      to destroy you Spore

      fr. spora sowing seed

      I will see your toll and raise you

      one hundred sixty-one

       7. DOVECOTE

      windows blown-in

      and empty-socketed as a skull

      against the hospital’s

      bone-slabbed concrete—

      roost, thou forsaken

      —absence is its own home

ATAVISM AT TWILIGHT

      Lance and drain this ravened sky—hat in hand we will

      Always return to you, prodigal. I swear we knew

      Not what we did. I swear. Land unscrubbed to rust,

      Gashed and bare—hell’s toothed pastoral. No

      Excuses. Pitchfork my soul, millet on your scale, but

      Let not this harvest strip flesh from bones. Pray

      Unsheathe your sword and make of my heart a ragged tear.

      Salvage this earth, snarl grass and field. I will take it all.

BLACK HORIZON

       Grand Isle, Louisiana, 2010

       Post-Deepwater Horizon oil spill

      Like ribbons of kelp, they wash up

      bark-black and stretching

      far as the eye can see—boys

      sway in the waves, skin sheened

      in oil as they toss the tar balls.

      A quick game of pickup.

      On the shore, cleanup crews

      weave a path between beach

      towels, Hazmat-suited,

      shovel and plastic bag in hand.

      It never fails to shock: dark

      pools oiling sands of blinding

      white. I load my open palms

      with them, testing their heft.

      These scales cannot be balanced.

      And always more cresting

      the waves, merciful as death.

IN WHICH SHE OPENS THE BOX

       Celia Steele in Delaware, 1923

       1.

      Even as a child I hungered

      for them, fox in the henhouse,

      my mother said. And a whole lot

      worse. When I opened the box

      to 500 straw-padded eggs instead

      of the 50 I ordered, I wasn’t

      thinking waste not, want not

      or, a chicken in every pot.

      I was thinking how I’d grown.

      Thinking of life, and how

      can anyone argue with that?

      The yolk’s yellow chalk afloat

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