kristi
maxwell

 

 

 

 

DIBATAG
an extinction

 

once we fell for “lemony freshness”

           smell enforces norms

preen now

skewer “so profesh”

           spunk—no recluse

lover of pores

open    open                preserve

eons’ envelopes

frozen corpses—parcels of once

our cells our lockers we use for self’s school

            no rescue for poor lessons

so numerous                our expenses

chrome only one

                     we screens

 

 

KOALA
an extinction

 

different fires require different fixes
wetness isn’t it every time

did Muir grieve missing species’ preceding densities—
see their missingness            the edges’ misgivings

perceive the un-
quinces didn’t preserve

residues extend remembering—the tide
venturing in, the drying spume
its spine                     the spirit vein deveined        deemed excess

we experienced judgment when wind whipped us

meted mischief by describing—
fruit is a tree’s sequins

ruined by the bite
who isn’t though

(get even, Eve)

is this triggering
this being minted by suffering

the minute (but this isn’t time—try twice) the minute
the determining mini

teensy thing                the seeming

 

 

SEROW
an extinction

 

animalizing a day by giving it a hump          a day aping land          an aging hill

humanizing a villain by handing him vital liquid       actually bidding him, “maintain”

liquidating light        a blacklight making appalling an agitating fact           hacking it

pinching        data’s flab                a fallacy                       a lullaby failing to lull

 

calamity—haughty kin that ixnay making annual a unifying

kin that gladly milk that humanity gland                              a tacky caulk

aiding a damming        a damning                  filling a fault in an adult        a guilt

but a happy vault                    habitual pillaging built up

cannibalizing any living thing                       lack-binging

 

Xanadu          a dividing habitat        a gill-blank halibut        a half-fib

 

 

PANGOLIN
an extinction

 

                        three servers query my druthers        my druthers, huh?
heck, serve us cucumbers                    Tex-Mex zest            the secret reserves
           surf my turf                effed by the eddy                            busted
                                                                 utter bummer              sewer us
                                            the desserts we deserve
                       the system’s buddy severed               try the rescue
                                                        try the butter                        the crème
           the wretched retch       the rest eke by           beset by fee-free fetters

 

 

Kristi Maxwell is the author of seven books of poems, including My My (Saturnalia Books, 2020); Realm Sixty-four, editor's choice for the Sawtooth Poetry Prize; Hush Sessions editor's choice for the Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize; and Re-, finalist for the National Poetry Series. She's an associate professor of English at the University of Louisville.