JULY UNDER THE BRIDGE
on the shore the mock orange turned brown spent;
ochre heads of yarrow replaced them;
almost the way a man
swaps out one wife for another.
a protest, not my ex-husband!
but a husband.
I invited poet and artist stephanie roberts — who has poems on Burning House Press and in The Arsonist Magazine — to trade lines of poetry with me. I’d never collaborated with another poet before, so the experience was something of a leap into the unknown. We began emailing poem shreds back and forth. The days flowed by, as did the weeks; the lines formed and shifted. Soon, a poem emerged —
Lacewings quake in the crepitation of thistles
& reeds. Crickets creak wintled heartbeats dry.
(β) stephanie roberts:
It would have been perfect, the river remapped boundary;
the embryonic recreates in its image.
selling points include “fairly good shape”
liberal politics a breezy concept of god
banged-up circles for easy handling
into this desperate mechanics turns
the gears of hard consonants
hikes, bikes, kayaks, walks
toils of past-time that toll hollow
now you want a goddess to flame
on one immune to the sting of obsession