Summer 2014 • Vol. XXXVI No. 3 Poetry |

Dodo, Duodo, Sluggard

From So Legged and Footed Dodo, duodo, sluggard. Fat-arse. Knot-bum. Fool. But if dodo, dodar, dodé is to falter, then I'm fowl- feathered, grief-spent, spurned. Who wouldn't think the world concave and bluish? The sky a wave up from the seadrawn back again. Thick salted air. You carried your plumage like I carry my sleeves—gray, ill-fitting at the seams.Still, they called you ostrich, rail, albatross, and hen, cursed your tough breast meat, the wrinkle in your wings. Do you remember the time one chased you to their circle—sailor revelry and smell—and held you up by one stubby leg to dangle in the air? Island-crier, gray-coat, how you sang out as you were lifted, how all your kin, dispersed, came running to you—

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Allison Hutchcraft’s poems have appeared in American Letters & Commentary, Barrow Street, the Beloit Poetry Journal, Crazyhorse, Cincinnati Review, and elsewhere. She teaches creative writing at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte.

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By Allison Hutchcraft

From So Legged and Footed Dodo, duodo, sluggard. Fat-arse. Knot-bum. Fool. But if dodo, dodar, dodé is to falter, then I'm fowl- feathered, grief-spent, spurned. Who wouldn't think the world […]

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