open-mouthed
slack-jawed
blue grey
sky
&
jostle
pekoe-tinged harvest
moon indigo quiet
in the agape night-blooming
children furrow
between high cornstalks
disappear deer-like
&
just like that
relief sets off
learning I could
die of exposure never taught me to shut up
die of exposure never taught me to shut up
a pair of tiny shoes remains
*
when you stop working bad things can happen
dig out ossified pitch make
marrow sing
*
wheat fallow corn fallow soy
I have never seen a fallow field
only hybrid sureties
standing thickly/seeds
scattered neon
Roundup ready
in the gravel yard
patented
neo-nicotin-oid armies
not ours
*
learn first changeable weather
waterspouts
harmless silent
ropey erratic breathless grey-green stillness
then squealing chaos will level a house
nest a carton of eggs
among
high branches
cling to/impose
almanac surety: no use
*
letters sealed in ziplock bags buried graveside
no right to appeal to the dead still they've sprouted
*
planting season
meeting my grandpa
for the first time
family lore has it he paused mid-field peered
at me yep
returned to work
blessed mythical
one shoulder bent to the earth
imperfect
love makes
memory holy
*
would not leave/give up would not grow too old
I furrowed myself deep below the hospital floor the gurney
one small scratch the body goes limp evacuated
deep gashes through the empty field
lingered for months
they left his boots on
said yesterday if I felt any better it would be a sin
a pair of steel-toes
a set of handkerchiefs
Jennifer Baker comes from Alice Munro country. Her first chapbook, Abject Lessons, was published by above/ground press in 2014, and her poetry, interviews, and reviews have appeared in ottawater and The Journal of Canadian Poetry. She is currently completing her doctorate and teaching English part-time at the University of Ottawa.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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