Poems of the Week – Katie Peterson



Creation from Chaos

In the great river gorges
a misguided bird

breaks the egg of the world

unclear whether eating
or hatching is in order.

The trees so full of gibbons
no flying thing can nest.

And the gibbons will not rest.
Screechings accumulate

like round peelings
of bark, seasonal and shed.

Everyone desperately present.
The accident begins.


Twilight Adam

A light breeze,
the sound of coinage.

How did things
get this way,

arranged, particular?
Who placed the lavender

in this one window,
scented across

what was once perfect,
trio of trees?

I don’t believe
in gut feelings,

don’t believe that
we are likenesses.

My hands grow raw,
writing this–


The World

No one took care of it: it wintered.
Then you wake up, someone gives you whatever,
pink trees in your head,
silence, silence is the shape of your head.

You wake. The Yard. A distinct world.
Not wintering, no. Shoes left out.
Someone approaches, his shyness
like a more forthright self beside his self.

As if redemption could be deliberate.
He seeks redemption, deliberate.
And you seek music, like a motion writ,
like a motion writ in the trees.

You can remember nothing.
A conversation as the house grows dark.
Agreement with your hands.
Agreement. Neglect of the trees.


* all poems from This One Tree, New Issues, 2006.

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