Teresa Wright

Earth and Moon Shadows


dangling like an infinitive

Tolerant, I stray 
on the beam of disorder. 
Roaming, I puzzle 
the moral night, 
that I might tip-toe 
as my old-self, 
an elastic tumbler, 
sure of feet. 
Oh, but this plank, 
this trick 
I step upon, 
knows my meandering. 
In front it deposits 
a strip of dog-eared 
notices, a collective 
of podgy paper-mache 
novelties. Folded anagrams 
eagerly emerge, 
polishing a manifesto 
while boarded-up poets 
suspend solace.

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I wasn't seeking a hummingbird

enduring as a Bengal's stripes
I've strayed evermore ground,
trekked on and around, uphill.
chancing upon a familiar river
I've hushed curious bends and
drifted, late with silent stealth.
flowing fluently without breath
I've caught the fascinated view
loitered near the mouth, scant.
racing mindless as a fallen leaf
I've slipped unversed as rhyme
broke madcap as rapids, riven.
breathing in, iridescent as flight

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I was the seedling  


to shoulder the slime 

earth in revolt  

facing slaughter 

I, the box elder furrowed  


I, the ash-leafed lengthened 




I matched the weed 


to fashion convenience 

humanity in denial 

facing extinction 

I, the ash-borer scrabbled 


I, the invasive …

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I was traded (the naked truth is rarely mushy)


I know the scent like a holding 
breaths of sweat beading ooze 
off the folds, unopened wallets 
pressed as a wager in the dark.

Sprawled like the odds, waiting 
in the cards to be the handbill 
exchanged. An easy good turn 
between cronies and consorts.

I know the etching like an itch 
ink fathoms my flesh pursuing 
the trivial like a ream of paper 
marking my effigy up-for-grabs.

Consumed like a godsend, bent 
on the ropes towards the grind 
as easy to ru…

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Still, The Morning

Crying east, 

I twist and yawn, 

lose myself in the coming dawn. 

Still, the morning comes. 

Still the morning wipes the night, 

dizzied time without your light 

shining on to me. 


Looking west, 

you yield and smile, 

take a breath and fly awhile. 

Yesterday lays down. 

Yesterday lays down the day, 

in the rain, and skies so grey, 

washing over me. 


Vexing …

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my ashes

Earlier than the ashes  
I was wintry, towering. 
An undressed standing  
stone, I kept ruins near. 
Gleaming into the ashes 
I was a fata morgana, an 
ambiguous crone, mired 
as a cur, a vexed polyglot. 
Leaping from the ashes 
I was an open pine box. 
A conscious stream, the 
river, I wrung out words. 
Bound by those ashes 
I am bones, stoneware. 
A sinewy forgery, a shell 
imploring flesh to heed. 

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Loathing indulgence

A terrible thing, waking from a dream 

to the aftermath, like an all-night party 

when the parents were gone, and 'cool' 

was your thinking, not 'how the fuck did  

that get in the kitchen?', and not 'oh, shit 

… we really did that!'. And when morning  

starts peeking through the blinds, begins 

to catch what little breath lingers, it folds, 

so you gasp, and you choke on the horror. 


Every good dream …

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the hard part

The hard part is finding that I am raw, 
not just once in a while. The hard part 
is learning it's an always-on switch, an 
ugly painting crazy-glued to your wall. 

The hard part is you cannot remember 
what was so cool in the first place, what 
with its clashing tones and hard blurring 
of classic lines, as if style didn't matter. 

The hard part is seeing that I can't fit
into the dress you picked out for later, 
couldn't amble through the market of 
apt goods, …

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Me, as mother

Me, silent  

as audience 

to the pendulum. 


I know, I know 

the beat 

I know 

claps drums 

to and fro and 

jiggles that sanity 

that address  

that spies  

my leeway 



Me, irrelevant 

as visitor 

to the blizzard. 


I know, I know 

the fury 

I know 


outs and questions 

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lighting fire

(from 2006)

hearing is distort ed
blue cr
    l es     t h r o u g h
WHITE smoke
sounds latent hover – heavy
h ot    re D coals to stir to stoke
padding foo tsteps

S T O M P damp   the    ground
u e e      yet       sit.
  n v  n          you
beady eyed directly
at the pace
at the fit
    quickening incessantly
like licking flames
orange RED is NOT so hot

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