Serving – poetry – Kari Gunter-Seymour

poems, Kari Gunter-Seymour
Crisis Chronicles, 2018

A lone bird pecks
at some once-seeded thing. ‘ – from Six Months Into Your Second Deployment

I don’t know that I should start here, but will anyway, and will add my wife when I say that my son’s disorder is just the current name of the first nobody to tell us he was sick. I start here because this is where I am after reading Kari Gunter-Seymour’s gutting and sentient Serving, the narrator of which breaks bread and waits for distance to lose its warmth all the while employing a verse that enters the fog of ache on an empty stomach and proffers hunger as a photograph snapped by a child devoured by others. Here, place begins as the coordinates of one with nowhere to be and ends as an else-less language so new it has no word for return. Here, time is an error of spacing. If I am to reside for my children in a vision that has god looking over her shoulder, I must read things that know aftermath has no roots. And with its deftly prepared presence, Serving is such a thing.


reflection by Barton Smock


book is here:


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