ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

Five Poems
by Anne Heide



HareLipped

The hare loves the deer as much. Slips unnoticed beneath her feet.
Paws her hooves. Slip and mortar. Thirsty water. Who'd been chased:
loved. White fawning over her. The liquid offspring: hatch.


Antlion


Because her body won't agree. Thin teeth that wreck her. Wearing water
to her simple waist, she tastes green to the gullet. Takes green to
the spill. Red leaves fawn out of her mouth: how small she is between
the mates that bore her. Where abdomen meets ground, whose face won't
agree with body. Whose wrecked belly is a starved plain, a better
master. Says, Dear body, I can't agree with you, my face.


Barnacle Geese

He grows on water, where the tide. Kind water floats him down when he
drops, ripe, to the shore. A squawk. Nodding in the tide. To sleep. If
he'll roll downhill. Address to the swan: make grey his egg: jealous
of the birth: come from trees. The flesh of this bird. Beaks of shell.
To eclipse the white water, to hatch one of him. A bird called
parasite clings to the bark. A bird called goose snaps at the flood.
Call the growing bird a fruit. One not meant to be taken raw. One
meant to sail inevitable from land. Seedless.

DogPile

The song of the dog is a low one.
One we'd have done long away

with were it not for its low
resemblance. A wrenlet lit

like something warm. We'd heard rumor.
Some crying down here had been him.

Been a human. Pastures
we traveled. Some time ago

had heard a human had
him. Captive. But had keeled

over the dog. Salt we lay down with.

To fill each other with opposite water.
To fill our bones. All dead discovery.


GreyWhale

If I could uncatch my hand
between skin and organ

and I would say,

motion it sinks
me forward further
and so I pause.

How to speak to a beast

when the voice
that carries so much

over water I am
afraid you are.

Fish that switch mates
             pill to my arm. Fish that
     
            
switch skin in gendered
             flashes.

My hand is oft your skin.

Listening.

 


Anne Heide has two chapbooks forthcoming in early 2008: Specimen, Specimens (Etherdome) and Residuum::Against (Woodland Editions). She is currently living in Denver where she edits the poetry journal CAB/NET.