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Lava and Sand

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The soil I’m walking over comes   

from deeper: a fire had done it in,   
a stewpot had suddenly popped   
and its contents streamed   
out wave over wave until   
it reached the water, until the sea   
called it a day and struck back   

with a counterwave. Stony nightblack   
dreambarren land where tawny   
thyme wrestles up and thistle is stitched   
to every bare thing. Over this malevolence   
I carry you in me,   
sevenmonths deadchild, out to the sea

Source: Poetry (April 2009)

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This poem originally appeared in the April 2009 issue of Poetry magazine

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Lava and Sand

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