Poetry Summer 2020


by Malia Maxwell

the views are 
better when you sit 
facing the direction of

the train passing 
through one delicious field 
of trees thick as marmalade 

after another spread over 
sweet and sorrow 
but October’s fossil  

infects forgotten fields
untamed or made 
orange by sunflower blood

and because you shoot
through the countryside 
forward-facing with the train

one stretch 
of track after another 

it’s too late 
to brave your head
backwards and

weep over
Redwood’s whisper 
you instead devour 

the majestic verdure 
that sprawls barmecidal:
ahead of you 

lies not a past 
coughing present 
but the future 

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