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On Writing: A Pantoum by Maggie Swofford

Ejecting love through darkest inksis a turning, an aimto match the missingpieces left behind to the whole. Some aim to turnmemories into skin, skewering thepieces left behind. Around the hole,gravity pulls each particle to my memories, skewering my skin topages—anyone’s thumbs would numb aseach particle pulls gravity.Holding the light white canvas of pages (my thumbs…

Show me where to sign but leave me something. The pedestal missing a leg, the cardboard cut-out of me you put in the window of your store, I know I’m not who I was but still, a wooden token from the days before we went digital, a piece of thread leading me out of this…

It’s not the house that’s haunted, it’s the person. Spirits that linger within disguise A phantom of the ghostly night Was all but forgotten amongst the wise With grimly tales that take delight By orders issued and advised By a hand that’s said to now ghostwrite: Lift your finger, shake your noseLook up, look down…

Night leaves tearson my notebookevery time dawn comes back The ink emits a light like a firefly,and sinks to the seamless horizon Even if you vanishfrom my view,my notebook reminds meof your sorrow Even if I’m swallowedby cruel sunrise,my notebook makes me feelyour warmth Yuu Ikeda is a Japan based poet. She writes poetry on…

When my father saw his tundra wolfIn the winter of 1985He didn’t know it was meMuskoxenRotting purple in my bellyKrummholz treesReflecting in my pupilsWreathed in mustardFur the colour his beard would turnPlastered to the ice roadTongue turned whiteHe stopped his truck And held my headIn the middle of nothingnessNahanni’s black sprucesReaching from the shadowsThe ashen snow…

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