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From: Vol.07 N.02 – Writing in the Pause

Remaining In(sights)

by James Thomas Stevens

I’m guessing the rabbits

were always here, but the one-eyed dog

in the windowed hallway was

bed-intent. Blind.

Now that he is gone,

the rabbits are rampant.


I’m guessing the corn stalks/stover

were always dagger-like at midday

before evening’s cool release.

But homebound I see them doubly.


I see because I’ve been double–sensed

the mole above my beloved’s

shallow navel.  It has always been there.


How rarely and careful

we see one another now.

And when he leaves, there is

the sound  glass bowls make

when  one is nested inside the other.

I too make this sound, when

waking alone in the middle of the night

I slide back into myself.

Published: October 2020
James Thomas Stevens

Aronhió:ta’s, (Akwesasne Mohawk) attended the Institute of American Indian Arts, Naropa University’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, and Brown University. Stevens is a 2000 Whiting Award recipient, has authored eight books of poetry including, Combing the Snakes from His Hair and A Bridge Dead in the Water. His next book, The Golden Book, is due out from SplitLevel Press in April, 2021. He is currently Chair of the undergraduate Creative Writing Department at the Institute of American Indian Arts.

An Australian and international
journal of ecopoetry and ecopoetics.

Plumwood Mountain Journal is created on the unceded lands of the Gadigal and Wangal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and to elders past, present and future. We also acknowledge all traditional custodians of the lands this journal reaches.