In Which There Probably Is No There There

My Life by Water

by Lorine Niedecker 

My life
by water—
Hear

spring’s
first frog
or board

out on the cold
ground
giving

Muskrats
gnawing
doors

to wild green
arts and letters
Rabbits

raided
my lettuce
One boat

two—
pointed toward
my shore

thru birdstart
wingdrip
weed-drift

of the soft
and serious—
Water

*

Far reach
of sand
A man

bends to inspect
a shell
Himself

part coral
and mud
clam


Fall

We must pull
the curtains—
we haven’t any
leaves

*

I walked
New Year’s Day

beside the trees
my father now gone planted

evenly following
the road

Each
spoke

Katherine Ann
A poor poet
divining Gail

The baby looked toward me
and I was born—
to sound, light
lift, life
beyond my life

She wiggles her toe
I grow
I go to school to her
and she to me
and to Bonnie


Wilderness

You are the man
You are my other country
and I find it hard going

You are the prickly pear
You are the sudden violent storm

the torrent to raise the river
to float the wounded doe

“Six Feet Under” —  Jon Auer

“Song for Sunshine” — Belle and Sebastian

6 thoughts on “In Which There Probably Is No There There

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