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October 18, 2021 Poetry

Two poems

Amy Bobeda

Two poems photo

in davis at the ceramics conference

on the Easter Bunny’s lap
a polaroid of my heavy bangs

smiles and my mother swears
I loved that bunny so much

I wouldn’t leave the store
to visit another gallery or

slip cast demo, one year I ask
if she will make a set of bangles out

of paper clay but she never does
because my father hid

the emersion blender he bought
her for Christmas to mix shredded

paper into porcelain, and he never
found it among the mess of wings

and noses in the attic, their students
always sculpting

rabbits, another year in a gallery
I find a perfect pink donut sprinkled

white and wish more than anything
it were real.

Sunset Beach

I’m flying on the beach, my father tells me
on days the wind beats his tiny planes
into shallow banks of seaweed
he sits to watch the waves, a double-crested
cormorant spreads her pterodactyl wings


the raven sea;

I’ve never seen a bird that hasn’t made
me want to live. 

image: Aaron Burch