PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
Mark FordLetters And So It Goes
Letters from Young Mr Grace
(aka John Ashbery)

(PN Review 239)
Kei Millerthe Fat Black Woman
In Praise of the Fat Black Woman & Volume

(PN Review 241)
Henry Kingon Toby Martinez de las Rivas
(PN Review 244)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Next Issue John McAuliffe poems and conversation Charles Dobzynski translated by Marilyn Hacker Maya C. Popa in conversation with Caroline Bird Richard Gwyn With Lowry in Cuernavaca Jane Draycott Four Poems
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review Blog

This poem is taken from PN Review 249, Volume 46 Number 1, September - October 2019.

Two Poems Jo Davis
In which attraction is sensible only at insensible distances

Unfinished, the rain withdrew like a boxer after a combination.
The pavement, still luminous with the idea the rain had lit,
Still norepinephrine-bright from its wild rush, has a butterfly,
A tortoiseshell, all its tones more tawny than ordinary, gleaming
As a guitar resined with tender copal.
                                                                           And the butterfly
Has half its wing riding on its own back, detached, dragged
From its thorax by desperation to fly, to be free from the
Surface tension saturating the spiracles that gave it
Breath, sopping it to the earth.

Oh, Brexit, Brexit, Brexit! Hard Brexit, hard science, hard shoulder!
The pavement, the pavement, the pavement. The flagstones’ fever sweat!
The last hope, the last hope. The imageless and the abstract.
What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?
I'm trying not to step on the cracks in the continent. Once,

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image