After our parents we were
fffffffffffall mouth****a salt hunger.
Led our animals on ropes
jjjjjjjjjjjjthrough ashy streets
gathering water****I carried
mmmmyou****on my back
the weather****a procession
mmmmof floating burlap.
Piles of linens****unattended
nnnnnnaround the house where
once you entangled
nnnnnnyourself****and panicked
calling to me Help.****Unbearable
nnnnnntiny voice****lump of body
struggling for an opening in
nnnnnntwisted sheets.
I felt a sharp tug—
mmmmthe violent urge
to throw oneself
kkkkkkinto the deepest water.
I raised my foot
iiiiiiiiiiiand stepped on the part
that looked like a face
nnnnnas hard as I could.


Ansley Clark is a native of the Pacific Northwest and a traveling hermit-teacher.  She is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Colorado Boulder where she also teaches creative writing.  She has been previously published or has work forthcoming in Smoking Glue Gun, Mead, Denver Quarterly, The Volta, Spork, and The Legendary.



  1. Pingback: Issue Nine, October 2014 | Matter
  2. Pingback: Ansley Clark: Szeged | Kathleen J. Woods

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