Sept/Oct 2015 • Vol. XXXVII No. 5 Poetry |

surface

we did not love the land enough to leave it untouched how could we the land with its continuous slow motion like a tongue the land at fault quaking open the first thing to abandon is language for laughter leaving the mouth a sun-stripped field in need of beginning again my favorite part of your body is the border your ear in my teeth your hand pulling at the roots of my hair the land like us with its tongue mapped by the body above both so easily broken coming apart or torn between going back and doing it all again just the same the body above sunrise and sunset

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Photo of Beth Bachmann

Beth Bachmann is a 2016 Guggenheim Fellow and author of three books in the Pitt Poetry Series: Temper, winner of the Association of Writers & Writing Program’s Donald Hall Prize for Poetry and Claremont Graduate University’s Kate Tufts Discovery Award; Do Not Rise, winner of the Poetry Society of America’s Alice Fay Di Castagnola Award; and CEASE, winner of the Virginia Quarterly Review’s Emily Clark Balch Prize for Poetry (fall 2018). She lives in New York City.

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hamartia

By Beth Bachmann

we did not love the land enough to leave it untouched how could we the land with its continuous slow motion like a tongue the land at fault quaking open […]

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