Thrush Poetry Journal
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Marie-Elizabeth Mali

Uncompassed

Sometimes I want to stick a poker in God’s eye, 
until I see the winter tree’s few curled leaves. 

I’m not the only thing that clings. As long 
as there’s no dirt in my mouth, I’m fine. 

The snow-covered mountain hides behind 
a cloud, but once I get further down the road

it lifts its veil and winks. I’m the untied shoelace 
that makes walking an adventure. A million 

tiny eyes peer out of the snowbank. I no longer 
fear them. The room is humming and it’s not 

the fridge. I listen with my whole skin for the sound. 
In the dark, the curb feels like an abyss. My feet, wings.




Marie-Elizabeth Mali is the author of Steady, My Gaze (Tebot Bach, 2011) and co-editor with Annie Finch of the anthology, Villanelles (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 2012). For more information, please visit www.memali.com




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