Louise Mathias
Bombay Beach
You know someone, somewhere.
A collection of knives, linoleum, unfortunately.
There’s a room now in the chest,
comprised of a secretive clock—
clock in, clock out. The blonde
undoes the strap,
sorry human noise
divorced of song, unlatched now in the palms,
cocaine and ridicule,
but also, love, also.
Louise Mathias reads “Bombay Beach”
Why Meadow
By Dying Lake, I spun a flower in my hand,
tender bones bleached bright in the animal wash—
and the sweet back of his neck after rain.
What we gave for this, and clearly would again.
The irises live for no one.
They die in the alkali meadow where they were born.
Mostly, they drink snowmelt. Sometimes rain.
Unpraised, we think, and better for it.
And, in doing so, we praise them.
Louise Mathias reads “Why Meadow”
Tenderline
At first just breathing was remote—a series
of tender isles
I’d know by dawn.
What is the purpose of skin?
To keep things out, and in, and yours
damp apricot lands
where even my sadness won’t save me.
Assembling the agonists of fate, each horse
completes its winter.
Louise Mathias reads “Tenderline”
Louise Mathias is the author of three books of poems including the forthcoming What If the Invader Is Beautiful (Four Way Books, 2024). She lives in the Mojave Desert.