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Poem

Conyer Clayton reads “Seeds”


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Seeds

I pray to catch
on fire, to get caught
up in a lightening storm,

burn my body back
to earth. The woods

are overcrowded. Stillness
lost, boardrooms and clearings.
We competed for the sun,

reaching out for the last
solar flare, arcing slowly
over you lying still on the couch.
Mortgage research and persistent fungi.
Abortions whispered
into rotting logs and deer hooves.
I nearly slipped hard
in the rain water,
the thick coating of mustard.
Just missed
disturbing a mosquito
nest brimming

with potential babies.
What kind of father would you have been?

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Conyer Clayton is a writer, musician, editor, and gymnastics coach living on unceded Algonquin Anishinaabe land. Her debut collection, We Shed Our Skin Like Dynamite (Guernica Editions, 2020), won an Ottawa Book Award and was a Relit Award finalist. She’s released 2 albums and many chapbooks; recently, Holy Disorder of Being (forthcoming with Gap Riot Press, 2022) by VII, of which she is a member. Her second book, But the sun, and the ships, and the fish, and the waves (A Feed Dog Book, Anvil Press) is forthcoming June 2022.