ADÈLE BARCLAY
 

Adèle Barclay is a writer based in Vancouver. Her debut collection of poetry was shortlisted for the 2015 Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry and is forthcoming from Nightwood Editions. Her writing has been published in The Pinch, Poetry Is Dead, The Literary Review of Canada, Cosmonauts Avenue, Matrix, and elsewhere. Currently, she is the CWILA Links Editor and the Interviews Editor for The Rusty Toque and is writing a doctoral dissertation on American poetry and film.

WEBSITE

adelebarclay.com

SOCIAL MEDIA

https://twitter.com/AdeleVBarclay
https://www.facebook.com/adele.barclay

BOOKS, PUBLICATIONS, PROJECTS

http://www.baldhipmagazine.ca/issuefour/barclay2.html
http://www.baldhipmagazine.ca/issuefour/barclay.html
http://www.cosmonautsavenue.com/poetry-adele-barclay.html
http://www.therustytoque.com/review-adegravele-barclay.html

 

AMERICAN SPIRIT
 

Jeanette’s face is a new moon.
Her thumb flicks the sky like a lighter
when we hunt for twin crab shells on the beach.

This tobacco won’t touch us for ten years,
our hollowed-out bones
and flutter lungs.

Cells bloom and die, don’t they?
Poppies in a field overcast with snow,
wolves circling before sleep.

This ocean is so small, I can’t drown
the idea of sorrow. Holy people walk
their dogs by a cliff I’ve never dreamed about,

although I try every night
by an open window in fits of darkness.
I’m telling you: things’ll work out

once I move to New York.
I’ll be greeted by the cats of bodegas,
hole up in my Bushwick loft writing letters

to hide under roots of old trees in Prospect Park
so the wrong ones can’t find them
like Frost says.

A city that’s no longer a city,
like St. Mark’s is no longer a church.
Maybe I’ll marry a girl from Vermont,

and swim in green lakes,
hold my breath underwater
so close to the source.

(First appeared in Matrix Magazine.)