Natalli Amato
Natalli Amato is a poet, fiction writer, and journalist from upstate New York.
Wed
I do not have a word for it:
near dusk, dark but not enough,
sunflowers standing in the field, sun drained
right out, turned-down heads with seeds long gone from their sockets,
sunflowers standing in the field, sun drained
right out, turned-down heads with seeds long gone from their sockets,
the way the cows make that sound
and it sounds nothing like moo, sounds
nothing like they said it would, and why,
about this, would anyone
be dishonest?
These feet are standing on manure-tilled ground and still
I could believe it’s whales that I’m hearing, the sound of
great blue beings breaching, or truer, the wish to never leave
this earth, the wish to let the gourds keep growing without the vine going brittle,
this wish that’s taking its marriage vow
to north October frost;
and trying to tell me why.
I could believe it’s whales that I’m hearing, the sound of
great blue beings breaching, or truer, the wish to never leave
this earth, the wish to let the gourds keep growing without the vine going brittle,
this wish that’s taking its marriage vow
to north October frost;
and trying to tell me why.
