Three Poems by Amanda Koester

The Table He Bows To

I would like to tell—loudly
My father
That his drink isn’t water—hardly
And his words,
And the day is consumed
By men who ride buckets
However since it is
The Muses Are Heard
And Head and Shoulders

I will lift his
Can from my
Words and itch—lonely.


The train on the river
Starts the house on an engine

The ducks take off

As the last cart rattles over
I am the car

Abandoned in the field
I can not move

And you think me pretty
Pass by

Worms in Flour

In the first days of winter
The starling move in black ink swarms, spilling!
Across the sky
His hands clapping–
To a white sky, specked in smoke
The gun shot sending them back to the country, diving
Into the corn, milled
Beneath the dirt
The leap, raven dance,
The corn stuffed clam of the bird
Seek the pearl for their tongues
And, flying into the windows to claim the beds
As nests

There are worms in the flour again
We pull them from the wheat,
And line their bodies out—
Each black tally
One closer to tossing the wheat

Profile: Amanda Koester

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