GONE by Miriam Sagan • Cleaver Magazine
GONE by Miriam Sagan After photographs by Nell Dickerson This needs narrative– Who left, and why, And who came back– The photograph The house completely covered in vines, Or vines in the shape of a house. I once lived Where creeper pried apart floorboard Where I sat with my baby in the bath And a flying squirrel Burst out from a hole in the wall Covered by a travel poster Of–of all things–the Alps, Leaping like a circus performer Through a ring of paper. Don’t sleep here, or you’ll dream Of abandoning the human in habitation, Like that night hitchhiking When I wouldn’t camp in the decrepit house And you agreed, Afraid of the fair-haired tinkers Or the unseen Tenants. Miriam Sagan is the author of twenty-five books, including the poetry collections Map of the Lost(University of New Mexico Press) and Seven Places in American (Sherman Asher, 2012). She founded and … chop! chop! read more!
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