Adam Day

 

Adam Day is the author of Model of City in Civil War, and Badger, Apocrypha. His work has appeared in Cordite, American Poetry Review, Poetry London, Sweet Mammalian, Iowa Review, Poetry Ireland, and elsewhere. He coordinates The Baltic Writing Residency.

 

 

 

These poems wrestle with contemporary culture by addressing both the commonality and complexity of people and experience. They are influenced by classical Japanese and Chinese (Buddhist) verse, but also by the bawdy, impertinent, visceral aspects of Samuel Beckett’s work.

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Adam Day

 

KIRU XXIII

 

It’s not personal; no someone here. Thumb

and index-finger touch; palm’s center

 

hollows out like the roof of the mouth. This

sadness is a position in time. Hit a fallow

 

deer – hoof-skids slantwise across

river road, slicker than goose shit.

 

Curious about the pain. It isn’t mine;

existing keeps happening. Below

 

tree canopy, the headlight’s frame cracks

under my feet. Where have I been?

 

 

KIRU CXII

 

Town sits like a sleeping animal

on top of a hill, drenched in mist

 

and drizzle. Along the road, a jeep

with a silver birch growing

 

where engine was. Snow

in the swale. ‘And what is death,’ Neighbor

 

asks, ‘Some mother’s or my own?’

They pop off all day at the clinic,

 

cut into bits in the dissecting room.

Woodshadows float silently

 

through morning motes,

seaward. Inshore and farther out

 

the mirror of water whitens, spurned

by lightshod hurrying feet. Cloud

 

begins to cover slowly the sun, shadow

the bay in deeper green, bowl

 

of bitter waters. Nickel shaving dish

in his hands, feeling coolness, smelling

 

the clammy slaver of the lather

where the brush is stuck. Nothing

 

here quite the same.

 

 

KIRU III

 

Broke the surface of shock water

with a black-ash loon, blood-eyed

 

bastard. Thought loon. And it

disappeared below. Peeling

 

birches lean over ferns,

the lake mirror. Sky, stay

 

whole. Fog-rain feels good. Why

am I always running away?

 

 

KIRU CV

 

Hard the black bear

has to work to speak,

 

accosting the boulder

for its lack

 

of ambition, its absence

of anger, its need for touch.