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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.

please advise stop [I might travel his death a creaking and swaying beneath me stop]

Rusty Morrison

I might travel his death a creaking and swaying beneath me stop
there are static expressions freed now and passing along the walls stop
an object isn’t what is hidden but what smiles out from the hiding please

with only the slightest effort I might abandon every father stop
or read them all cover to cover please
eyes turn like the telling of stories first inward then out stop

the next page wasn't the kind of listening I wanted but it was all I was offered stop
to reveal as in the Latin re- plus velum meaning veil stop
the thought of him still everywhere only a new place to hide please advise

From the true keeps calm biding its story by Rusty Morrison. Copyright © 2008 by Rusty Morrioson. Used by permission of Ahsahta Press.

From the true keeps calm biding its story by Rusty Morrison. Copyright © 2008 by Rusty Morrioson. Used by permission of Ahsahta Press.

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

I was dragging a ladder slowly over stones stop
it was only from out of my thoughts that I could climb stop
not from the room please

my father's dying offered an indelicate washing of my
perception stop   
the way the centers of some syllables scrub

poem

my father's dying makes stairs of every line of text seeming neither to go up or down
   stop   
that I make the nodding motion to help myself feel I understand stop
in common with his bafflement I find comprehension alone will not suffice stop

that I