Three Poems

Three Poems

Tres poemas

Tanya Huntington


Those who alleged a marked distinction
between life and death were wrong;
in fact, I’ve been hauling molecules around
for forty years that, in isolation,
are far older than any animal will ever be.

What a puzzle!

Pure assemblage,
all organic…

In reality, I have never been alive.

And I (or rather, that which forms
some part of me) shall never die.



Birds that tear through sulfur-charged air
above flayed terra-cotta stones
encrusted with thick minerals
have left the glowering sun behind
a heavy bank of splendored clouds
reflected in the toxic pools.

Then, from the indigo sierra
came the sudden crush of rainfall.
(No, not “then,” as if in the past.
But right now, while I’m writing this:
here come the sheets of beating rain.)



For Sabina Berman

And is it possible to write a poem
without man residing in the middle,
at the core: without his presence or gaze?

Only trees falling down in the forest
with no further reflection ensuing
about the sound, or else the lack of sound.

CCu6utFW0AEdTDsTanya Huntington is the author of Return and Managing Editor of Literal. Her Twitter is @Tanya Huntington

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