The smallness of this
colloquial cannot
muffle the full morning orchestra—
amphibious greens
clotting the trickle
of thaw. The tinny
fin flip and eyeflake flash—
small schools that
give shimmer in the dull
skulk of wind.
)
(cry one
pure perennial
I can’t
doubt)
(something by which to)
where we are
wearing our
belts
a little tighter—
)
rotted out boat
bottom:
the boat
will stay afloat
as long as you pretend to
row
)
In meadows
let alone,
gravid stems
erupt—
hale
yellows.
)
Gravid stems
erupt.
The hale
yellows pale once
they’re plucked.
Source: Poetry (November 2010).
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This poem originally appeared in the November 2010 issue of Poetry magazine
Brooklyn Copeland was born in Indianapolis, Indiana. She is the author of numerous chapbooks, including The Milk for Free (2008), Longing/Belonging (2009), Laked, Fielded, Blanked (2011), and Salt Ballads (2012, and the full-length collection Siphon, Harbor (2012). Copeland’s work, in which she often layers images, sound, and narrative in short, fragmented lines, has drawn comparisons to that of Lorine Niedecker, William Carlos . . .
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Poems by Brooklyn Copeland