Tag Archives: Audrey Spensley

Salmon Run

My father tried to cram the moist earth of his hometown into the crook of his elbow, held it like a wad of gum tucked behind a molar. One summer we had trembled on the arched back of Alaska, tacked … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Elegy Whispered from Behind a Closed Door

Perhaps she was afraid of the part that came next, the and then. Once she danced on horizon lines with her bare speckled feet. Once, she snapped her leg along a fault line. A woman is someone who knows how … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

Aftermath of a Pilgrimage

Of course they have scars. No one crosses an ocean just for fun. An unknown geography still stitched into the lines of their sunken palms. It’s embarrassing, your tongue dragging across the rugged syllables of bloodlines mixed and torn, their … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Reprint | Tagged | Leave a comment

Cusp

That summer we ran rough like dogs on a scent—sweat, the sweet hum of honey jars, the salt smoke of your father’s leather. We slept curled in ten feet of sourgrass, a feast for mosquitos, the moon a spilled-milk eye … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Meal Song

an imitation of prayer: sorting scattered bones over counter tile, a skeleton unfolding on touch. there is no truth but hands and bone, a knife nosing for skin. love is how to carve the spine of a fish— how to … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Brooklyn

in the morning we swallow sugarless coffee,             grease our tired throats, pick paths through                         the splintered toys, an architecture of ruin: cracked glass and pizza boxes and black lace.             on the floor girls sleep with arms flung open,                         a separate … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Eulogy for My Older Sister

You tell me it happened in the back of a church. Watched yourself seep through your palms, fingers stained with glass. The crudest sacrifice is the one you wrote to yourself, to stab from the front and back. Your stomach … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment