Two Poems
The South Got Something To Say
Not an ounce of your body’s bloodis yours alone, yet you darecarry it across state lines,knowing what happens to anyone caughtwith that kind of contraband.You might think you have no accent, but open your mouth& I’m all they hear. Not a word you saybelongs to you. A Cadillac’s trunk,an empty pantry, dumpster, grave:how is the shape of your mouth any different?
Memory, Flooding Back
The river’s rise out of itself beganin the west, the lowest partof the city. Its first breach of the bank:subtle, just a thin filmof water over the land, like a handcoaxes a child to sleep. Within hours,it reached our homes. When the waterseeped through the window, I feltso confused. How like a child to thinkthe house had started to cry.
Feature Date
- September 1, 2020
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Copyright © 2020 by Jeremy Michael Clark
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Rachel Eliza Griffiths
Jeremy Michael Clark is from Louisville, Kentucky. He is the author of the chapbook Some Blues I Know By Name, and his first full-length collection, The Trouble with Light, is forthcoming from Ledge Mule Press. Currently, he is a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Social Policy and Practice, and lives in Brooklyn. He can be found online at jeremymichaelclark.com.
Spring/Summer 2020
Lewisburg, Pennsylvania
Stadler Center for Poetry
Bucknell University
Editor
G. C. Waldrep
Managing Editor
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Shara Lessley
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