EMILY HUNT

TV

 

I have not been outdoors

tearing my junk mail in parts.

I read a letter that told me

my friends are important

because I’m not really

alone when I’m walking.

I think of her, how true

the thrill, there was something

you gave to me, I give it away.

Here by my working

a cold body in water

my fish sometimes pauses

in softness.

His fins are like hair.

He’ll dart up

for a few specks of food

I drop from above

and I wonder how loud

his world might be.

Trembling at the top,

he’ll suck back the air from a bubble

he made with his breath and then bolt

down and away, to return

to the same situation –

the pebbles, the plant,

which hovers so dumbly,

its roots loosened

from a rock that once squashed them,

a surface that wonders beyond him –

and pressing his self

against an edge, he’ll nearly disappear,

distorted, a mark of nerves now he comes

to the curve nearest me.

He looks out, living and small, already I care.

Locking my door I laugh at the size of his heart.

I admit that I dread

the moment I find him.

I see it in flashes

stiff and impossible

by the bank in autumn or pain.

A hot planet is troubling

the darkness above

a Chilean desert

and again I’m awake.

The sky is a luxury

a slow outside, and then

I go there.

Some seconds long

I carry my TV

down to the bricks, the rocks and trucks in my yard I forget.

I don’t know,

where white gravel pools by the car.

I am trashless now, I am not.

A cat in the woods

meets a cat in the snow.

My friend remembers the death.

Dense world I am finally leaving like air.

What’s moving inside, a subject

who seems to be loving.

A movie is growing around him.

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a kid on a floating dock,

a weird extra facing the first,

there are four of them

 

the place is really floating made neatly of trees

one makes a joke on the ocean

the world rushes to enrich it

clouds float over their parents

the sky and the water are blue and the rest of the world

doesn’t touch the beach

Emily Hunt is a poet and artist living in San Francisco. Dark Green, her first collection of poems, was published by The Song Cave in 2015. Brave Men Press published a book of her drawings and captions, This Always Happens, in 2013. Find her at ehunt.tumblr.com.