from Fake Flowers Last Forever

 

Call it the year of everybody dying
from birth—you & me—we saw
the world in such a specific way: a place full
of novel colors to be collected & classified.
But everything new leaks out to brown,
it must, for as long as we believe in linearity;
for as long as it exists to draw a boundary
around the outermost limit of our imaginations.
I think of the 90s with its sepia tones;
some people are addicted to the past & others,
the future, which love is more corrosive?
The failure of now is to focus on either,
when what is being lost is the living—
not songs, not poetry, which go on
changing nothing. I can write around
our longing, I can trade fear with time,
like being sung to. But bodies do not rise
again, you finally learn, when your friend
failed to get up & his books went unfinished.
All of the mountains already have their names
& the margins will never be discovered, more
than once & the concrete will not recede—
you have to believe it can, but can you?

 

 

 

from Fake Flowers Last Forever

 

You throw me the same line:
words waxing & waning around
the phrase entrapment. In my green
summer dress with the white flowers
I am feeling, suddenly, less pastoral
& more like somebodies mother,
sweltering inside a series of minuscule
embarrassments. What terrifies me
most is not the fire & instead, the prospect
of becoming one of those women
slowly seeping heat until they have
no language left. The sky gets uglier,
then, the water birds screeching like ghouls,
until our yellow lights switch back on.
When you place a hand on my back,
later, you explain that everything is hideous
when captured through a damaged lens.
This is an idea I can hold onto—
nothing will be beautiful, but it could be
if we able were to examine it correctly;
it could be, here, but it isn’t yet. I wrap up
my disappointment in silence—I wear it
like an object handed down.

 

 

 

 

Zoe Dzunko is the author of four chapbooks, most recently SELFLESS (TAR, 2016) and is a doctoral student in Creative Writing at Deakin University. She is the Poetry Editor of The Lifted Brow and in 2014 she founded Powder Keg Magazine, an online poetry quarterly, with Sarah Jean Grimm. Recent work has appeared in Tin House (The Open Bar), Guernica,  H_N_G_M_N, Bodega, Two Serious Ladies et al. She is online at: zoedzunko.tumblr.com

 

 

 

 

 

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