Autumn 2012


A Commons, Once

This is not the body you meant.
Forty seven dead trees. A wanderer
forages (clavicle scapula sternum)
in the thin shade. He has brought (fibula scapula tendon)
tent stakes, a hatchet, the wounded dog

(he doesn’t know what to do with his hands
when he is not gripping the hatchet, when he is not
driving stakes into the ground) and the dog (aorta

uvula tendon) laps
at its wound.

If there were a tavern
at the edge of the woods (aorta vesicle earlobe)
you could boast

a different (vesicle) legend
but the wood rots, swells
with damp and (cilia cartilage
thorax) a creek in the vicinity permits
only breaking sounds.

(mandible thorax)

The man heaves, pulls the dead
possum out of the water. Nothing
is good (mandible

                              gullet colon) to eat.

If there were a town on the hill
(you saw a town on the hill) you could boast

(gullet canthus) a different poison.
The man makes his way above
(bladder kidney canthus)
the rise stripped bare (bladder scapula
tibia) and leached. He carries
his dog (clavicle scapula tendon)

the body you meant.
The dog’s wound (canine incisor
claw) ruptures and weeps.

MICHELE BATTISTE





 

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Response to Michele Battiste’s "A Commons, Once" by Aaron Angello