n a o m i    t a r l e

 
 

We are the cloth wishing it skin of a kitchen table.


A room as a bird.


At once we are supple and rare.








































 
 

We are the cloth wishing it skin of a kitchen table.


In blue glass of dawn,
through feral fields,
where water holds fire,
            a city of sparrows and crows and blue jays and tan doves—

                                                and all the horrors of a life fulfilled.

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A room as a bird.


Here is the mark—
            the whale tooth,
your hand is always between a wrench and a rib.

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At once we are supple and rare.


There is a single mouse tit,
little faux-hawk
on a miniature McIntosh tree.

He fluffs his chest feathers and tweaks his wing feathers.
Silly, bird doesn't know.

If at once I remembered the womb,
inside, our meat thumping like we know
all the closeness will end in ovens.

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NAOMI TARLE has a MFA in creative writing from Boise State University, and a MFA in visual art from California State University Northridge. She spent five months living, writing and making work in Israel between her two MFA degrees. She was a semi-finalist in the 2014 Grazing Grain Press Chapbook contest, and was shortlisted for the 2013 Summer Literary Seminar Fellowship. She currently lives in the LA area where she writes, makes work and teaches as an adjunct professor.

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