Shawn Fawson

C

 

C his eyelash we found on the pillow.
C C two sailboats bob.
Come back, we say. They do. They don’t. We aren’t
Certain about weather at the sea’s edge. Then was a different
Climate on a different
Continent. Or
Consider then to be a mouth remembering shapes of
Cherries or an interior orchard that feels a boy’s feet
Climbing ridges of bark. Such a brief season—the
Country of wooden sandals now under the bed. His body drowns in its
Chills and night sweats. Our minds race ahead without him—
C an empty hook or
Chipped plate.
C a sound of breaking.
C Hiroshige’s unfinished bridge on paper
Cannot reach the opposite
Coast. The gap, both flaw and portal. Never mind
Coming from or going to.
Cloudbanks rise halfway up the shore, and the moon
Comes down on the brink of another world.

 


SHAWN FAWSON resides in Denver, Colorado. Her book Giving Way won the Utah Book Award for Poetry in 2011. She holds an MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts.


Issue Four
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