Nat. Brut ARCHIVE
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NATBRUT.COM
POETRY - ISSUE FIVE
Leaves Without Trace
CHARLOTTE LIEBERMAN
* * *
I.
The narrow inlet simmers
in the light of late-
afternoon in August.
The wheel of that stationary
vehicle in the thinned-
forest nearby howls
as you undergo its image–
the structure itself
never does move.
II.
Ester blooms in an old
bottle of vinegar
dwelling amidst yellow
cookbooks, rancid stacks
of papery flesh acrid as
the woven cords of wood
that make the counter-
tops give
that make a mattress of
yeast-water-
logged sinew,
flexing to make functional
this surface stained
by curried memory.
[Untitled Genesis]
* * *
What of it makes
the light take on
the rhythm of
dancing. A waltz
maybe. But it is only
porch-light. White.
White enough to see
each other. Also
mosquitoes. And
the ribs of cracking
wood beneath our
feet. The light is
as bright as my
understanding is
clouded, you sitting
and me wishing I
were thinking something
else, or during what
ever it is you were
talking about.
An apple. Sweet and
watery. The right
color can make
summer feel cold,
I guess.
Charlotte is a New York based writer who thinks and writes about feminism, relationships, communication, digital technology and wellness. And more.
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