CHAIN 6: Trundlesung

there are margins down the middle of us
sides inside and we blunder somewhere in between
there are rocks in Butte, Montana that ring / immaculately shattered
each fissure humming siphoned err
highway signs: “warning, falling rallentando”
cliff sides strummed by passing cars / rock broken
into singing and oxygen broken into breathing
lungcavern vibrating and sediment blood seeping
a whistle harmonizing out of rock lips
matter warbling down our intestines
gravity wrong-keying down our limbs / in geologic time
our clamoring bodies are swallowed soundlessly
regurgitant breath winding its way into resonance

Natalie Wilkinson lives in Bozeman, Montana, on the stolen territory of the Cheyenne, Salish-Kootenai and Crow people. She currently works as a part-time farmer and no-time writer. Her work has been published in Parlor Tricks, the literary magazine of Williams College, and The Pool, a collaborative online art magazine. More: nataliewilkinson.com + @snittlesnattle

If you want to be the next link in this poetic chain, send us one poem that creatively responds to Wilkinson’s Trundlesung by Feb 28, 2021 — visit our Submittable for guidelines