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      February 17, 2017On Domestic EcosystemsLiv Lansdale

      This jar
      of yours has
      people inside.
       
      I feed them
      jam. I lick
      the knife.
       
      Let’s fold
      a map
      of the sea
       
      into thirds
      and bury it
      out back.
       
      Nights
      like these
      the moon
       
      is a round
      fact like
      a seed or
       
      a lid or
      the mark
      on your
       
      skin my
      mouth will
      leave behind.

      from #54 - Winter 2016

      Liv Lansdale

      “Last year I met a poet at AWP, and months later ran into her again under very different circumstances. I’d introduced myself solely as an editor; when she found out I wrote as well, she asked me to write her a poem. Something about anticipating a specific reader—particularly a semi-stranger—gave rise to this one. I doubt I could replicate the circumstances. If I do, I’ll be the woman asking a stranger to write her a poem.”

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