Poetry by Shira Dentz

           Fred Postles CC




​Indoors, we watch the wind press
against things

My hearty cabbage flower is rotting. The
basin where I took it was marred from
overuse. I watered & peeled it apart, looking
for a husk not yet unresponsive. You are a
tweed scurvy pretending to play with plaids.
My fork is at rest from digging. Eyes burn in
the distance like an outline of gray hills on
gray sky: all is a hue of light.




An early sandwich

Bitter herb, take it or leave it,
no stands taken
on this night, coarse & reticulate
as a cantaloupe skin,
mercurial dark
gushes in from our cosmos
where we're gravityless
& yet, & yet, we're a form of light
                                                                  seeding




​
Shira Dentz is the author of five books including SISYPHUSINA (PANK, 2020), and two chapbooks. Her writing appears widely in venues such as Poetry, American Poetry Review, Cincinnati Review, Iowa Review, New American Writing, Love’s Executive Order, Lana Turner, Apartment, Denver Quarterly, Diagram, Black Warrior Review, Academy of American Poets' Poem-a-Day series (Poets.org), and NPR. She’s a recipient of awards including an Academy of American Poets’ Prize, Poetry Society of America’s Lyric Poem Award, and Poetry Society of America's Cecil Hemley Memorial Award. Shira is currently Special Features Editor at Tarpaulin Sky and lives in New York. More about her writing can be found at www.shiradentz.com

​