Saturday, January 13, 2018

Poetry By Laurinda Lind

Laurinda Lind is a poet living in northern New York. This year she won first place in the North Country Writers (NY) poetry contest, and second place in the New York State Fair poetry competition. Her work appears, or will appear in Bombay Gin, CALAMITY, Comstock Review, The Cortland Review, Gone Lawn, Gyroscope, Jet Fuel Review, Josephine Quarterly, SWIMM, Triggerfish, Unbroken, Uproot, and Welter.

Their Going

We can’t bear bad
luck if it leaps past
stiles and inhabits

the undersides of
livestock, except
when less-strong

stars shift overhead
for them first or tiny
clocks seek to collect
their sleep. We keep

our wrists in our
sleeves in case
they escape
up the century.

That’s the place
where we can
really ride them.                                                    

An Alchemy
A vessel that
can’t contain itself
will not wait for

the rest of
the reckoning
will only

learn to turn
and tilt till
it finds

a run where
it spills its old cold
wine out under

the direct rays
since in its ruin it
still remembers.                                

Flight Instructions

It’s not that we fought the first declension, when every good goddamn came with its own climax/  anticlimax. This time what taps in the eggshell is older than that, has already fractured at least one alphabet. Its current can’t countenance traction. But a warm radio might wait its the epicenter, might soar with no wings. Still, what’s wise won’t rise until stained dry. While tongues are only diagnostic if they don’t read radioactive. While the height of an escalation stays half-hidden. The best advice is 1) to hatch fast and run hard, 2) to trend as high as the treeline, and 3) to save whatever surprises you since it hangs to the edge of the edge.

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