Tuesday poem #220 : Sarah Cook : I WISH I WAS A PROFESSIONAL FIELD-SOUND IMPERSONATOR BUT INSTEAD I AM A BUG

here comes the sound of the sun, wilting. i just remembered wishing, i just remembered spare parts. & then my mouth closing tighter than ever before. i said nothing. & then, accidental leaves. & then, accidental house-space. this is the house, this is me wishing for elsewhere.



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i mean the breath of a full chest is almost like the park you can run through it you can play outside you can sweat until you fall down & stop breathing then your chest is empty then the park is empty.



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these are the colors i would like to see invented: cutting down animals; empty silhouette; invisible child; wet room.



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the field has

memory loss the

field has apoplexy

the field has organs

to begin with & so

it can be blamed for

sensitivity or

accused of striking down

a woman



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one time i invented the field i called it an empty silhouette i traced its lines & colored outside them i threw the field away. goodbye, field. goodbye small organ space i never fully acknowledged, anyway.


Sarah Cook writes and sleeps and talks in Oregon.

Her chapbook SOMEWHERE THE / SHAKING was released last week by above/ground press.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan