Supra-National Country Club

Why each of us does cling to a story
“with floor collapsing”*
These and other naturally forced
To forms, lose their hold
No longer of cat-tails
(we begin also to poof
Un-uniformly – just here and there volunteers
Push away from selves of seed
Into themselves, of the hairdon’ts
not yet quite done
Surrender to scraggle-crumbs
Of sub-something others, radically of color
But these actually
Pretty sturdy – they are sub somethings…
Yet to criticize – we now see crabs
as something just uselessly out of reach
* As I ran yesterday and viewed the crystallization of desire for house in these houses, placed cleverly amongst cattails and rushes, daintily set as teacups upon their intentional mounds, tucked ever so slightly back from the nicely curvy cut-throughs, I lost my own desire, at least, for that moment, to be with them or of them. I was afforded an anti-desire and this event deserves much gratitude. And I spotted the cattails pushing and moving outward, undeniably, not according to any scheduled schedule. And the space-aged lawns, with their diagonals, knowing they soon, too, will wrest their fates from the scheduled mows, from the will to design, and will soon grow yellow and coarse.


Rachel Daley is the author of a poetry collection, Plasmos. Her poems have most lately appeared in the Harvard Review Online and here! She currently lives and works in New Hampshire.



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  1. Pingback: Issue Eleven, 2015 | Matter

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