The cellist rests her instrument between
her knees, finds the sway
and draws her bow. Atlas fits his shoulder
to the groove of the Earth, lifting.
The dog circles before settling, lays
his nose daintily across a paw.
The poet teases out spider-silk as long
as she has a body like the trees
that kindle then stand naked
in their bones, unabashed at being seen.
Devon Balwit teaches in Portland, OR. She has six chapbooks and two collections out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements (Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry); We are Procession, Seismograph (Nixes Mate Books), Risk Being/ Complicated (with the Canadian artist Lorette C. Luzajic), and Motes at Play in the Halls of Light (Kelsay Books). Her individual poems can be found or are upcoming in Cordite, The Cincinnati Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Fifth Wednesday, The Ekphrastic Review, Red Earth Review, The Fourth River, The Free State Review, Rattle, Posit, and more.
Detail of The Cellist, 1908, by Joseph DeCamp.
califragile.org 