by Karen Schubert
Trees bend and touch
in this change, all contact
and noise, shaking
nests, pods, petals,
apples hard and small like marbles
in the mouth. The low moan
of thunder through the trough,
lightning like headlights
in the window of a darkened bedroom,
wet smell of loam.
Look at the spruce that fell,
roots rupturing ground-mush,
cleaving into the limbs of another
standing so close. A tree falls
and all I hear is you asking
When will you come back?
Karen Schubert’s poems appear in DMQ, Conte, Lunarosity, The
Village Pariah, Anti-, and others. Her chapbook The Geography of
Lost Houses was published by Pudding House (2008), and Bring
Down the Sky was runner-up in the Parlor City Press 2010 chapbook
contest. A contributing editor for Muse, she lives in Youngstown, Ohio,
and teaches writing at Youngstown State University.
On “Warm Front”:
“Warm Front” is about the obsessive nature of new love; no
matter what is going on around us, our thoughts circle back. I
wrote this after a long time away, in the midst of a lovely return.
It’s also about the way we (I), or part of me, inhabits the natural
world. I notice this when my partner and I are driving—he is
aware of the cars around us, and I’m seeing the grasses and the
play of low sunlight through the trees, the flickery shadows we
drive through. And the way I sometimes assign human emotion
to what I see—trees as lovers. And the way we can sometimes see
meaning in force or destruction.
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 5, Number 2
Copyright © 2010
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors