Selected poems
If I say
If I say there is no godI do not mean there is no
god. There is noThere is
the bound energyof the melaleuca, the light
tossed back from the undersideof the leaf, the peeled bark
of the body wheretranslation
is the impossible —insistent, necessary.
Maundy
quiet nowthe bread boxis empty
we have emptied itwe have eaten our fillthe box is bared
the skin embracesthe skin its outerand its inner
under the breastbonethe bass vibrates so thatthe heart's gait
is awkwardthe breath shallowsto a whisper
say nothinguntil morningwait if you can
sleep sleep nowthe arrest isimminent
The glance
Partway between a fingernailand a semi-circle in the western
sky the moonrises over
the glanceof wheels on the night's road.
Gas pops in the gut.The engines sign like Nike
the clear air.Give thanks.
With the same sense
that meets the keys I stroke her arm.This tactility makes the tangible seem
eternal, as if the want to writewere training me to count on time.
My mortality is misdirected thusby a capacity to touch. And when I put
my arm around her shoulders, I feelbeneath the skin the sharpness of the bone.
Anne Elvey is managing editor of Plumwood Mountain: An Australian Journal of Ecopoetry and Ecopoetics. Her poetry collection Kin was shortlisted for the Kenneth Slessor Poetry Prize 2015. Her latest chapbook is This Flesh That You Know. Anne holds honorary appointments at Monash University and University of Divinity.