Learning Air Is Plural Four-part exhalation. A weave, a weft, a gale, a cleft that’s gone unheard. Without object, there’s no Nor’easter wail. Hear the varied creaking? A hemlock howls in baritone to king pine tenors – Are the shoreline trees in gust, or is gust in trees? What makes undercurrent? I’m voiceless as milkweed seed lifted from cracked pods.
—Submitted on 09/25/2022
Robert Carr is the author of The Unbuttoned Eye (3: A Taos Press, 2019) and Amaranth (Indolent Books, 2016). His poems have appeared and in Lana Turner Journal, the Maine Review, the Massachusetts Review, and Shenandoah, among other journals. In 2022, he was selected by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance for an artist residency at Monson Arts.
Editor’s Note: The series title Flush Left refers to the fact that, due to our limited WordPress skills, we are only considering poems that are flush left. Some poems already in our Submittable queue that have simple non-flush-left formatting may be considered publication.