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Category archive for: Marie Gauthier

Grief Scale

i.Hummingbird at rest.

ii.A letter in the post, rain-damp, belated.

iii.You no longer read the newspaper.

iv.Child touching two fingers to the keys of an upright,

the felted breath of dissonance.

v.Thunder’s approaching bass, trebled against glass.

vi.You inhale a cold muddle of clouds. Frost

glazes your heart, your gut.

vii.Stasis.

viii.Stasis.

ix.You could speak forever about nothing at all.

x.Crow wings a wind shear—

the ice forest creaks and fractures

into ten thousand tiny knives.

xi.You pluck the bloody shards—

from your scalp, your hands, the hollows

beneath your breasts—for the rest of your life.

xii.You bless them all.

from Poetry Northwest 07.2 Fall & Winter 2012-2013More by Marie Gauthier from the library

Copyright © Marie Gauthier
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.