November 10, 2008

You were the only member:
not quite domain, a hungry sect
my species. Now, a lone

attenuated form
vestigial remnant
like gar in flooded quarry pit
or possum, wire-hanger tail
and anxious crunch of kit’s
dry meal from set-out pail—

how must I mourn?

My problems are too many teeth:
they seem unduly dull

Or vegetation’s plot, perhaps—
a shift in serration
evading failure’s dentation,
the way the world mutates
beyond peripheries of sight

Do I adapt?

If so, what tune
should I now whistle—
at crepuscule, noon—
through what constructed beak
and — Lord — to whom?

by Julia Martin

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  1. November 10, 2008 at 7:32 pm

    I love this poem. I read it again and again.

  2. November 11, 2008 at 9:38 pm

    hi, julia! this is a kick ass endings. it takes all the wondering that simmers in the piece and takes it to a whole new level. the same is true about the loneliness that is so painful — the ending punctuates it. i’m pleased to be introduced to your work!

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