Absconder
When I was a child
I slept in a room
whose windows opened onto woods
Dawn birds darted
in sunglow between
trees calling calling
Heat lightning on the horizon
rain never falls
We set out early decamp
slip away desert
ride hard ford a river
unbridle the horses who
graze small slow steps
Like any animal I live
with my own need and
that of others how
they rub together
your hunger mine
Disquiet
The saga’s recast each
unfolding day
Decrees declared withdrawn
New edicts shift the ground
beneath us Hiatus
turns to disarray
Sparseness spareness
scaling back Unpeopled
houses loss after loss
Disturbances that thrive
within catastrophe All
angles sharp points
utterly silent poised
to strike
Tale
Told in sweeping tones as if viewed
from the stars
Litany of conflicts victories dominion
Schemes that yield the unforeseen
Foreboding gleams in pauses between
words
As in many stories a hero
reaches too far
gains power loses
the way
Endless hungry rushing
river
Sources of darkness stalk
the margins
Descant
Gathers the drift of life constellations
of moments sensations
Unravels this-then-that knits
reflection reverie
Sings of all being breathtaking
in the unmaking
Katrinka Moore is the author of three books—Wayfarers, Numa: An Epic Poem with Photo Collages, and Thief—that include her artwork alongside her poems. Her chapbook This is Not a Story, won the New Women’s Voices Prize.
Read four poems by Katrinka Moore previously appearing in Terrain.org.
Header image by Anja, courtesy Pixabay. Photo of Katrinka Moore by Michael Lawrence.
