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About this poet

Rusty Morrison's poetry collections include Beyond the Chainlink (Ahsahta Press, 2014) and the true keeps calm biding its story (Ahsata Press, 2008), which won the James Laughlin Award, among others. She is the copublisher of Omnidawn and lives in Richmond, California.

in the decision of a beginning [3]

No sensation of falling, which suggests that this condition may be flight.

My eyes might be open or not. My coffee poured into a cup or

onto the countertop. This, a ball of saved rubberbands or the thick clot of tremors

I usually keep deep in the drawer that I can trust will stick

when I absent-mindedly forget, and try to open it.

What would it mean for a body to yield?

A use.

That is to say, dew moistens the grass and is gone.

The body moves from out of its past with each glimpse of its own

disappearance, cumulatively. With each drop of rain the earth’s atmosphere pelts

its grove of tall cedars and saplings

with equal force. A body

negating itself as an object possessable. To hold one’s breath would be to drown

in order to avoid drowning.

Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Morrison. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Morrison. Used with permission of the author.

Rusty Morrison

Rusty Morrison

Rusty Morrison's poetry collections include Beyond the Chainlink (Ahsahta Press, 2014) and the true keeps calm biding its story (Ahsata Press, 2008), which won the James Laughlin Award, among others. She is the copublisher of Omnidawn and lives in Richmond, California.

by this poet

poem

the rustle of a Sunday bundle of newspapers tucked under my father's arm stop
and no father walking toward me stop
on the branch only oak leaves reddening as wind ripens their talent for exodus stop

on the lawn a scatter of wrens head-down but tail-erect stop

poem

 

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2
poem

like water in water —George Bataille




Eggs, transparent and sometimes red-veined as insect wings, might be hidden
in bark crevices 

or a scatter of tawny leaves.

The distance between one gestation and the next, a pleat of the dress I wear 
carelessly