Open Field, Zero Miles From Hell




    filmmaker weeds strawberry fields
    hear a flame red upright piano with its metronome ticking
    push “play” on the remote
    be teen surrogate traceing camps’ crackled mudflats
    keep a gun to your head
    a ballistic ghost will beg: “go home, you’re a mess”

    hometown salt marsh
    river running underground
    no kimono safe downtown in 1942
    the Salinas-to-Posten train ride
    sagebush, sunstroke, dust storms, 123 degrees
    8 dead
    red wall, burning field


“zero miles from hell”

    with the very drawing stick the camera is
    fire pit + indigo bath
    each and each are two open dots on a field
    a paper thin relic: the whole dyeing stencil—the punch cut

    the wrong rodeo: no trick riders
    mothers sleep in a horse stall, pee in an open pit
    where we now run bleachers: up down faster faster
    human prodded as if hoof and hoof
    lassoed here

Lori Anderson Moseman's recent poetry collections are All Steel, Temporary Bunk, and Full Quiver. She grew up in Salinas, California, where she trained as a competitive runner. Anderson Moseman founded the press Stockport Flats in the wake of Federal Disaster #1649, a flood along the Upper Delaware River.
*Photo courtesy of Lori Labrecque.