Thrush Poetry Journal
  • ABOUT
  • ARCHIVES
  • MARCH 2023
  • SUBMISSIONS
  • AWARDS
  • MASTHEAD

Shannon Hozinec
​

Dark Madder
 

             Instead of fever,
let clot and clover.
             Snarl of nettle
in hair.  Snout wet
             against belly.  When is
a body not a body? Bruted,
              it can only gesture
at being.  When it is apart,
              it is apart.  Heft silhouette
to bruise, to blunder.  Waste not, want—​
               for nothing. Correct
what does not bend:
             hand slotted neatly
between breast and hip. 
              What is leftover when unmuted? 
A bowl of teeth.  Keening bouquet
            of body.  A smile,
palimpsesting through bone.




Shannon Hozinec lives in Pittsburgh, PA, and selected other poems can be found at Deluge, The Bakery, decomP, Boston Accent Lit, and Palette Poetry.




Return to November 2019 Edition