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Em Robidoux

your fence, a gentle direction back 

to you, I hover         at your weakened 

posts & in the middle of each season 

I rise like a curse & burn.  I’ve lived 

long in a timeline punctuated by losses:

my mouth to someone I was too small 

to kill, my father ashed in the dregs 

of a bottle, my love of winter cored 

by its insistence that it’s more beautiful 

than me.     In the spring you have a plan 

to write reports for the local paper 

on how the mites are  desiccating 

the chestnut trees.   You want to follow up, too

on the dog whose hind leg met a steel trap

last year, & was adopted by the hunter 

who’d set it.                   You want to go 

together to get a headline so I 

can see my name in the newspaper 

for a good thing. But I’m thinking 

about that dog with three legs & what I would do 

with three legs—all that running away. 

Em Robidoux is a queer poet currently living in Iowa after the completion of their MFA at the Iowa Writers' Workshop. Originally from Rhode Island, they've spent most of their life exploring art and nature, as well as making and cultivating spaces for both visual art and creative writing. Their work has appeared in Palette, Press 53, and twice in Glass: A Journal of Poetry.  

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