The Brooklyn Rail

OCT 2020

All Issues
OCT 2020 Issue


      roots in green silt (color of pennies)
      curl around the broken sink
      in the yard

joan’s on the fire escape
bare neck blue like egg whites

    climbs back in
    with daubs of rain
    around her mouth

on TV there are images of frozen cavemen
found in softened glaciers  (the body’s precious metals)

           it is not unusual to dream of hallways and femurs
           too soft to walk on. many who
           came to the americas by sea
           reported a strange sensation of vertigo
           upon seeing the coast: although
           they could see land ahead it seemed
           the cliffs were actually behind
           the ship, and closing in

the sky is pink after the rain. I walk toward the NPC but she doesn’t see me. there are holes
in my hand when I touch her. she sways then fans her face. she is walking away from me with
a bundle in her arms. turns back. trees sway repeatedly when mapped by visibility. at the edge
of the scopic field we fold

the sky is pink after the rain. joan’s taking pears out of a bucket. the light
unsolifies. room in another room. in a doorway. tray of ice cubes

glinting. latches
collapsed and held apart

       1.  a natural or unnatural joint
       2.  depend upon entirely

           the window screen’s
        propped against the kitchen door
               blue-green algae  False sinningia. plant the teeth
                                 and pull them again


an index
carved stone  Katydids
sing into their own
ears whereas

shovels in a truckbed
clanging flowers


ribbons of sap
the riblike

hands pulling root vegetables
memory of spheres

in the absence between bones


creak implicit in negative space
all creaking [a current] carsick
hand sifts thru
striations of light


grass combed by
wind acts as moor
field charms  (clinking)
debris in cup
first wind of September
sightings of ICE near Cypress/Myrtle


its offering. surface in
delay. circumference of an axe
in visible fields

wind calves
the other wind, crescent of
a molecule

speckled plum all exits
in the dark. who was it
that said balance is
the inner ear of god


Tessa Bolsover

Tessa Bolsover is a poet currently living between Queens, NY and Providence, RI. She is a founding editor of auric press and an MFA student at Brown University.


The Brooklyn Rail

OCT 2020

All Issues