Poetry: “Laurentian” by Ashely Adams

I want to be cinders and paddle-wake,
birth-warm to the touch.

But I am not a metal vein,
and this sea who plays at youth—
trapped in August or October.
It doesn’t matter when: the storm

always white-cap scales and copper-green
bleeding fangs
hook and drag me
past sturgeon’s diamonds.

Down, down to the kingdom of 32 degrees.
Thrones of ore-sunk ship,
a crown of diatom ghost.

Extinction never plucked the strands
of five-eyed DNA,
and the mud of things
that don’t know they’re dead
clings to my roots.

Sea lilies crush the space
between my nerves with this guilty
bilateral symmetry.

In the bubbles of my drowned
migration, trilobites sing
isn’t this a beautiful country?

***

Ashely Adams recently acquired an MA in Writing and Literature at Northern Michigan University, where she also worked as an associate editor for NMU’s literary journal, Passages North. She has a BS in Fisheries and Wildlife from Michigan State University, and has been previously published in Rum Punch Press, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Permafrost, Flyway, and Anthropoid.

What’s HFR up to? Read our current issue, submit, or write for Heavy Feather.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s