{"id":902,"date":"2018-12-11T00:37:16","date_gmt":"2018-12-11T06:37:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thespectaclstg.wpengine.com\/?p=902"},"modified":"2019-06-03T15:17:32","modified_gmt":"2019-06-03T20:17:32","slug":"poetry-by-abi-pollokoff","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/?p=902","title":{"rendered":"Poetry by Abi Pollokoff"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<pre>\n<div class=\"single-box clearfix entry-content\" itemprop=\"articleBody\" style=\"overflow-x: scroll; margin: 10px;\">\n\n<div class=\"poemscroll\" ;=\"\" style=\"font-family: Georgia;\">\n\n\n\n\n<h4>The Auction<\/h4>\n\nI woke up this morning with seagulls encased inside me.\n\nAnd I said, \u201cHere, this is what I have to offer.\u201d\n\nThe seagulls preened and prodded, and you said, \u201cDo you have anything for sale?\u201d\n\nAnd I said, \u201cHere, take these seagulls, they\u2019re inside me.\u201d\n\nYou looked at the skin encasing them as the seagulls preened and prodded. And\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;you said, \u201cHow will you set them free for me?\u201d\n\nAnd I said, \u201cI will run them out through my knees.\u201d And the seagulls preened and\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;prodded because they knew they were for sale.\n\nAnd you said, \u201cI am not too fond of knees. I am a little too consumed in your\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;wrists.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n<hr>\n\n\n\n\n\n<h4>stains of an enemy\u2019s century<\/h4>\n\nat the pier, a catch in tumbles\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; [a cheshire evening]\n\nwhat is the lady\u2019s drainage here?\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;[the sea, emptying its letters]\n\nleaving water, she takes the trees herself\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;[cypress]\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; [pine]\n\ncan\u2019t navigate waterways with anything\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;but the carved kayak &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; [builds bridges instead]\n\nlady struts the sanded paths, asks tides their wither\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; [strums islands as casual gifts]\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;[casual gifts]\n\nlifting alibis by presence, the lady sifts empty\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; nests in the sea&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  [light scratches\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; her belly\n\n\n\n\n<hr>\n\n\n\n\n\n<h4>Reckoning<\/h4>\n\nIn a compact garden, I shape air\ninto its domestications: tomatoes and one\nstone path. Others\u2019 busy tongues ask questions\nthat disintegrate into labels of compost and manure.\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The people here look for economies within each stalk.\n\nEvery time I wake up I remember I\u2019m a little more dead\u2014\nEvery time I think I\u2019m a bumblebee, or, <em>this is what blood feels<\/em>:\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;bone has never been such an obstacle.\n\nI\u2019m learning this city by its accoutrements: mosaic turtle\non a front stoop, jellyfish mobile made of gold tinsel,\nair scented with fennel and anise after a rain.\n\nWhen the pulsing bus passes with a rumble of electricity, I learn\nthe meaning of arterial streets: this blood\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;is no thicker inside or out of its skintight wrappers.\n\nSomeone planted a raptor\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;\u2014built of tin or copper\u2014\non their stoop. The dandelions that used to grow there\ncalled themselves sunflowers.\n\nI am interested in certain words:\n&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;tender&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; arabesque\nThere\u2019s a sashay in them I can\u2019t dance\u2014something\nlight blue\u2014but they swallow themselves so effortlessly, and I like that.\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n<\/div>\n\n<\/pre>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<hr>\n<hr>\n<p>Abi Pollokoff is a Seattle-based writer with work forthcoming from or previously in <em>CutBank, Poetry Northwest, Black Warrior Review<\/em>, and <em>Guernica<\/em>, among others. In Fall 2017, she was the writer in residence for The Alice. A former reader for the <em>Seattle Review<\/em> and editor in chief of the <em>Tulane Review<\/em>, she won the 2012 Anselle M. Larson\/Academy of American Poets prize for Tulane University. Her MFA is from the University of Washington. Find her at abipollokoff.com.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Auction | stains of an enemy\u2019s century | Reckoning<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":904,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[61],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/902"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=902"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/902\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/904"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=902"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=902"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thespectacle.wustl.edu\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=902"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}