Foundry
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shot

​​​I’m the wet actor
on the cold stage
 
of this November play
of daylight waning
 
and they haven’t run
the shot yet and no
 
hot water bottles
under the ladies’ gowns
 
can stop our shivering.
Our lines change
 
with every inch
of water crawling up
 
the steel skin of this tank
but plot is useless down here
 
in gulps of spray
off the fake ship’s prow.
 
Was that tactical
or was that strategic?
 
That was political.
Like any stupid war zone
 
all it is to the people in it
is a mess. The storm is
 
inevitable they say,
the storm is coming
 
this way, so let’s
get the best shot.
Picture
John Singer Sargent. Deck of a Ship in Moonlight, 1876. Watercolor on off-white wove paper. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

kiss

It’s true, we rue.
You tore yourself
 
apart for us and we
loved to watch you
 
do it. We loved to
watch you crack
 
your hips like a whip,
toss yourself skyward
 
seeding thunder
to the clouds.
 
It’s the brain
that feels the pain.
 
It’s the body
that delivers it.

Lisa Olstein is the author of four books of poetry, most recently, Late Empire (Copper Canyon Press, 2017). She teaches in the New Writers Project and Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin.
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  • Home
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    • Masthead
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    • Issue One
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    • Issue Four
    • Issue Five
    • Issue Six
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    • Issue Eight
    • Issue Nine
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    • Issue Eleven
    • Issue Twelve
    • Issue Thirteen
    • Issue Fourteen
    • Issue Fifteen
  • Guidelines