Isle of the Narrator

It’s true these boots were taken from a dead man,

but he’d already drown’d: I didn’t want his purse.


It’s true I’ve carried infant bones within a kettle

but for the purposes of study only, brother


trust me: you & I are royal twins, operatically estranged—

observe our matching birthmarks, side & thigh!  Sister,


come ashore: nights here are Dionysian: crowns

of thicket, silly incense & umbilic torches,


horns & holy rattles attend the garlanded bull.

Though convictions and my eyeteeth dim in daylight


our severance is too high a price to pay for truth.

And anyway you didn’t voyage here for truth



Amy Beeder is the author of Burn the Field (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2006). Her work has appeared in Poetry, Ploughshares, The Nation, The Kenyon Review, and other journals. She teaches poetry at the University of New Mexico.

Issue #30 December 2013
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