Wrong Number

by Heather Christle

Heather Christle is the author of four poetry collections: Heliopause and What is Amazing, both published by Wesleyan University Press, and The Trees The Trees and The Difficult Farm, both published by Octopus Books. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, The Believer, and elsewhere. She is currently writing a non-fiction book about crying.

Wrong Number


 

The urge to comfort everyone for what happened
to them in your dream.

The recurring belief that a pulled-up daisy, roots still
clumped with dirt, makes for everyone a perfect gift.

The impossibility of all other presents.

To recognize your wife in a silhouette lineup
and still to say nothing.

Bookcases that are doors.

A tree full of pennies for children.

Dust under the covers vs. spot-lit dust.
Dust as convict escaping.

The souvenir trays at the fair.

A magnificence of auctioneers
and their sullen apprentice.

The need to sweep anywhere outdoors.
The need to shift the interior.

Years of wisdom on forcing a bulb.
The cool and the dark
and what doesn’t need them.

The illuminated globe of presidents.
The cinema’s illuminated milk.

Divorce.

To intercept a wave in the produce.
The strong urge to send it back.

 

What The Anvil

 

I’m not trying to tell the truth
I’m trying to hurt you
with these big these big these angry hands

I’m going to wait in the bathroom
for you to come home

getting ready for a fight
like they say spoiling for it

And yes indeed I am rotten!
like a badly preserved tiger
like a dead and mangy tiger

like there’s no shape
left to me but my head

 


Heather Christle is the author of four poetry collections: Heliopause and What is Amazing, both published by Wesleyan University Press, and The Trees The Trees and The Difficult Farm, both published by Octopus Books. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, The Believer, and elsewhere. She is currently writing a non-fiction book about crying.

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