from the event, “of auras and bone frequencies,” at the clock factory
berkeley, ca, december 2015
and here in a meadow
you’ve seen the deer multiple
times now
they come out at twilight
where they go after sunrise
we all go missing it’s the
———mystery that kills us
if I could shut the dark my mouth
on the hill where you raise your hand
to light / a way a cigarette / the way
smoke follows the sun, falling
every night now the problem is
falling asleep, the loops
———–smoke makes in the meadow
—————————/ of becoming?
if I could open my mouth
where deer shadows lift the strand,
rip the meadow, smolder across
the hill?
there is no more exhalation
ashy tendrils
to be had / heard you calling
—–come the hordes
————-of swampgrass getting
good and whiplashed
in the sea breeze
there is only ocean
missing / from your voicemail
——–the going going gone
tilted windmill / stilted sigh
do you miss me
grey
———clump of fur in the fencelink
recalls a botched getaway
eyes follow
————creatures stripes in sand
even knots in the wood paneling
are watching
the fields of unseen handwriting
appear then re-
disappear
——-and then you sleep
——-and while you sleep
your body is replaced
by another
where did you go?
what has become of you?
and I?
——–green rosette on a tree, orange crust on rock,
hair entangled branch
the host hears her mistake
And opens the door to ocean
phantoms undeleted
crossing a street, feeling
that you crossed by car
in another time
with another person
on touched concrete
en route to the party
laced with bare feet.
and then you
in another plane
detected
the fields are sky
what is opened, crossed or closed
you are always looking for places
to fly
The visible advised.
“As if I were you.”
The good luck wraith.
It being “more ardent to regaze.”
(back here in the meadow)
you’ve seen the deer multiple
times now
what becomes of the many
variations on us?
an “I” borrowed from “you”
given back to “her”
for the taking
and taken to split
ground and sky,
country and tree.
We are split and welded to the invisible
seam we feel between instinct
and antlers marking tree bark.
mistook your quiet for disappearance
your lapse in memory for blind longing
let the eye follow along a branch from trunk to tip
and if the sun hits just right there is no more
branch just leaves dancing in formation
believed your fear to be clouded
your tongue fallen under a trance
maybe the days multiply under all that fog
went to the shed and returned with gravity
tossed you I we her
over a shoulder and carried on
maybe we pooled all the creatures
claws wings and otherwise
maybe we begged for a song
lily brown lives and teaches in the Bay Area. She is the author of Rust or Go Missing (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2011).
carrie hunter’s newest book, Orphan Machines, is just out with Black Radish Books. She edits the chapbook press, ypolita press, and teaches ESL.
tiff dressen currently resides in Oakland, and is actively seeking further details on emigration to Canada. They are learning letterpress; type setting poems and making broadsides makes them happy.
alexandra mattraw’s most recent chapbook can be found at Dancing Girl Press. Her poems and reviews have been featured in journals such as VOLT, The Volta, and Denver Quarterly, and her newest work is out soon in Fourteen Hills. She curates a reading and performance series called Lone Glen in Oakland.
steffi drewes organizes Featherboard Writing Series in Oakland, and her poetry collection Tell Me Every Anchor Every Arrow is forthcoming from Kelsey Street Press.
valerie witte is the author of a game of correspondence (Black Radish Books). She is a member of Kelsey Street Press and the Bay Area Correspondence School.