Three Poems

Claire Meuschke

Sir:

in this particular case it will be noted  boss throws his         arm  
index  pointed  to mean look anywhere but at me  he calls the 
land his to cover land he calls   gnarly  calls her      old denim 
man and I   both had sling limbs weeks apart        then weeks
apart      panic 
                           chalk green 
                            trucks fenced
 	                        yard boat 
                      helicoptered livestock
                         eagle on a doe 
                      carcass  

how to approach underground roots spread   fire     widowers 
a trunk  almost ash once in Albuquerque  I  threw out expired 
boxes     swore quietly into a dumpster along    the food bank  
kids who       only ate       nonperishables during  school  day   
hunger’s 
                                    a wild horse 
                               a nest of sage 
                          weighted in stomach 

that   the  alleged   mother  was  an  Indian 

is it going to rain  when he shouts I feel it in my bones when 
one stopped dancing everyone became a  ghost town I  never 
knew the name    if you brush an anthill with  a finger onsite 
you can find turquoise   some ants attracted   like some birds 
attracted to blue    she dropped   an instance into     a crease    
my palm   a day after  I was  fingerprinted    for a federal job    
the cop and I            talked kindergarten      crafts      crime   
snowflakes ethnicity   not fitting inside    the form gave me a 
new draft    then  showed me      a sink

Sincerely,
August 1912

Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q Didn’t you ever hear what caused your father’s death A. No
Q What is your mother’s name A. She is an Indian
Q Where is she? A. She died
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q
Q a young buck crosses the trail old
Q enough to be alone and continue into the
Q same plane cholla prickly pear saguaro
Q flowers I don’t know the names for
Q yellow and purple beneath ranges of snow
Q beneath a grocery list I wrote I always
Q ask what I don’t mean he says
Q your dog looks like a nice dog
Q not too scary but scary enough
Q I have to agree as I descend
Q out of sight still form a question
Q for the stranger stemmed up the tripod
Q like what do you take pictures of
Q is it the view?



clearing I don’t believe in luck though I find myself saying that’s lucky as a filler for silence        or merely that’s that twice now the coffee cup bottom has filtered a semievergreen forest in all its ground sludge to say get out of the desert or don’t read about the flammability of buffalo poop read a sign about the massacre of buffalo during Indian Removal Act not the massacre of Indians during buffalo removal comet moths feed on poison ivy whereas morpho butterflies leave banners of blue afterimages on dark foliage when I take off my clothes I think now might be the time to start anti-gravity poses once mastering hand stands I can repopulate my cells      then precede myself

•••

Claire Meuschke grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her debut poetry collection Upend is forthcoming from Noemi Press and centers around her grandfather’s archived immigration trial on Angel Island, CA, and her brief stint with the US Forest Service in New Mexico. She received her MFA in poetry from the University of Arizona.