Carey McHugh

American Gramophone

American Gramophone
A sense of crows returning in large flocks 
to rearrange the body of a tree. The sound 
of something black and sharp flying 
into its own reflection. A folktale spoken 
aloud. A spell. In this verse a neighbor 
with one good hand lays a bridge across his creek. 
What is more reliable than this new wood growing 
full of holes. The day is wasted watching horses 
drag their shadows the length of the field and back. 
The spine spoils its own alignment—serpent curve 
like a shelled thing, sea-born. Legless. Weighted, the gate 
calls out from the heft of admission. If I could choose, 
it would be a seat out of earshot. If the song were played 
again, from the beginning, it would wind its own notes down. 
Bio
Carey McHugh's poems have appeared in Smartish Pace, Boston Review, Denver 
Quarterly, Gulf Coast and elsewhere. She lives and works in ManhattaAmerican Gramophone


A sense of crows returning in large flocks
to rearrange the body of a tree. The sound
of something black and sharp flying
into its own reflection. A folktale spoken
aloud. A spell. In this verse a neighbor
with one good hand lays a bridge across his creek.
What is more reliable than this new wood growing
full of holes. The day is wasted watching horses
drag their shadows the length of the field and back.
The spine spoils its own alignment—serpent curve
like a shelled thing, sea-born. Legless. Weighted, the gate
calls out from the heft of admission. If I could choose,
it would be a seat out of earshot. If the song were played
again, from the beginning, it would wind its own notes down.

 

 

 
 

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