Mg Roberts

from "Brightly"






A spider unfolds out from the shape of her body.
Concepts of home become leafy, its location coincidence. And she
contemplates if pineapples can grow at such high altitudes? Later
today, she will drive across town, as a passenger, seeking a way to
create us as outlines.

Occurring again she selects herself as the creek bed laps against
her curling toes. She watches as if by accident.









The spider crawls into your cupped hands and for a moment you
consider this location as whole, but it feels as if there isn't enough
air here, perhaps you should quit smoking.

As you watch the worm furrow into the blue silk of a wedding sari
and disappear with the sunlight you think: next time I will be the
one who digs.









Dear Child,
There are things like history steeping in a press pot that I do
not yet know. Hot tea, water boiling and settling. Jasmine.
Born grammatically we are dinosaurs, formed and blurred
beyond shape.









The errors of how things can change, extinction pulls away I
am unlike myself. A gerund. Possessing the need to
accumulate sailing ships, I imagine history submerged in my
throat. Have I told you? There are things I have yet.