Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Fifteen Winter 2007 |
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Still-Life of Cornfield with Canada Geese Laura Hirneisen Green not dead where corn should be out the window, color you might breathe, pigments spit like bird bones, too hollow, no meat. Hill quilted grass patched, fleshed fingers like silk, bare heads without hair; brown a furred mantle you wear on shoulders. Distant trees these might be bodies, tall men with top hats, stiff spines of bark red red turning. Field flat undulates ribbons, rows shorn, ragged tips tanned in increments subtle sometimes gold, sun hiccups light. Geese silhouettes, backwards letters, write them home again, winter’s shed feathers, plucked wings behind. Road black, four lines, white yellow yellow white, flattened shrew carcass, one leaf belly up. |
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About Laura Hirneisen |