Poetry by Adam Deutsch

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Clear Cutting


There’s time to finish razing the trees
some mornings—a kettle’s stainless whistle,
the call from that women you know

with a cane, who is familiar
in the way people are when you both
start a job on the same day. 

You orientate together at a location
designated to make sense. The path
widens to freeway. You cruise,

stare though open doors, tuck, 
and roll together. Then spread kindling
and set everything on fire.

Heat pushes in all directions,
fuzzy like middle puzzle jigsaw pieces. 
Responses come together to make water,

others rescue animals hide,
storm eyes, the legs of beast
gathered to form a herd. 

​

Adam Deutsch has work recently or forthcoming in Poetry International, Thrush, Juked, AMP Magazine, Ping Pong, and Typo, and has a chapbook called Carry On (Elegies). He teaches in the English Department at Grossmont College and is the publisher of Cooper Dillon Books. He lives in San Diego, CA. AdamDeutsch.com

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