Anne Shaw is the author of two poetry collections:Dido in Winter, (Persea, 2014), and Undertow(Persea, 2007), winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky Poetry Prize. Her poems and reviews have appeared in journals including Harvard Review, Black Warrior Review, Denver Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, The Kenyon Review, and New American Writing. She currently lives in Chicago, where she studies sculpture at the School of the Art Institute. Her work can be found online at www.anneshaw.org.
Voices drift across the lawn
and form in the shape of clovers. A slight breeze
bezels the fishpond, lens
of grainy light, black
cord covered with electric tape. Kneel
on the concrete. Tile, sedge.
Koi ghost out
to meet you, blunt-
edged hunger curving
Take this bract that rises and subsides.
Butterscotch or red and white,
their bodies slick
as sorrow, lathered
with the cold, unseemly weed.
Elsewhere, there's a party.
Clink of glasses, square of kitchen light.
Elsewhere, a pair of pliers
its implicate beak.
A hooded sweatshirt
gestures from the bottom of a lake.
Here, put these on. You're going to need
the leather gloves I tossed off in the shed.
Speech is just an instrument to register
the night. I offer
you no hook, no tool,
nothing to make fast
no metal implement with which to cut or mend.