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Untitled 9

Gnawing coarse hair from

the ink-splattered eaves of the darkened house

they attempt to pull the survivor from its flood

but stop to comment on how dark his skin is

how wooden his face looks

when photographed on a horse facing west;

as if to name reeds piercing the horse’s neck: whale bones wrapped in turtle hide,

as if to reach into the loom’s ribs and wring bear blood from handspun red wool.

from Flood SongFind it in the library

Copyright © 2009 Sherwin Bitsui
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Poems Sherwin Bitsui

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