C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

Eventide in the slag field; There Used to be Pine Trees

By: Ree Sherwood


Eventide in the slag field

magmatic remains laid to rest

under the wheels of some kid’s

pickup littleyounghearts

with pink sleeves & black

mouths holding the wholewidewhole

gaping palms grasping to be

one molecular chord


come home

with me

says a youngheart

hand to knee


coughing up a smokelung

in the passenger seat town of

poison rusted tap pouring

runoff into every plasticrystal

glass wet those throat holes

before dragging love into this

slagwaste train rattles

iron across town youngheart

clicks loneliness off the radio


come home

calls a mother

like there will be

( firefirefire )





There Used to be Pine Trees

we dream our homes empty seamsplit

down the shingles cracked hallways.

howling staircase & no button couches.

no tvs singing cowboy songs. no glasses

half filled with last night’s coke. we

dream our houses tinder&kindling





Ree Sherwood holds an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and reads for Carve magazine. Ree comes from Western Pennsylvania and wants to tell you all about it. Find more work in Plates Journal, Lavender Review, and Painted Bride Quarterly.

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