Dorothy Lune

Fall '23

Now the Earth with many flowers puts on

her spring embroidery

— Sappho

A substance pressed onto this fresh linguistic site—

how do I explain myself into place, find answers

the lady at the embassy will be delighted to

hear. When I emigrate that is called a recount,

a renewed contact, a deleted number &

name. When I moved schools, I stood a cylindershrew,

slippery. At the old school I had one friend at a time—

now define friend, define contact. The next city

has custody of me. I don't talk to mum anymore,

I send money despite / despite. My first

apartment is stacked with recumbent propulsion—

an Akkadian precursor, instinct, daughters &

daughters ago. There was a stone tablet where I stand:

packed with a letter of awe & nerve; her mother

complained of never seeing her anymore.

DOROTHY LUNE

The last woman I want to be is a dead

silica sunset solid of compressed skin / like the old

wives tales warn / silica kills —

I strive to be the only immortal woman.

I pray for a tool other than my eyes, for my mouth to

function —

all planets stare at you, all you've had are eyes,

you were watched in the old bedroom where you

spent most your time —

On the twenty first, I fly to France, the new

bedroom is vulgar & a gizelle doses off all day here

like a cat, eyes of a victim —

& stomach chambers of a hedonist. So a

gizelle usually flees at the sight of a human / but

me, I am ok —

to it / I don't want to lose my vision

to a staring contest with a sun of sand / it knows

this: to be dead in another place.

Dorothy Lune is a Yorta Yorta poet, born in Australia & a Best of the Net 2024 nominee. Her poems have appeared in Overland Journal, Many Nice Donkeys & more. She is looking to publish her manuscripts, can be found online @dorothylune, & has a substack at https://dorothylune.substack.com/.