Home > Poetry > The World Does Not Know of Us, Not Yet
Ian Harris
Published: Wed Apr 15 2009
Art: Paul TheriaultEver New (detail), 2022, acrylic and found paper on scavenged wood
The World Does Not Know of Us, Not Yet

I. Myself adjacent to the Sailor Creek Bombing Range

I write myself into the Nuclear Age, N. America,
southern ID, adjacent to the Sailor Creek Bombing Range,
where are built phony military installments
that are carpet-bombed on a schedule.

II. My look-alike behind the Iron Curtain

I include a boy behind the Iron Curtain who is my look-alike,
and who opens to the color plates in the Atlas of Minor Civilizations
at the same time I open to them.

Together at the same time, one by one,
we look at the three happy fishes on the flag of Anguilla,
the golden bird of the Christmas Islands. The little Lebanese pine.

See what's inside AGNI 69

Ian Harris lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and son. His work has appeared in The Kenyon Review, The Black Warrior Review, Jubilat, and Court Green. (updated 2009)

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