[dropcap]A[/dropcap]fter writing a thesis on death postures as lyric and hermeneutic trope in three American novels, Caroline Parke decided she needed to write her own poems on the themes that preoccupy her. She is currently working on her first full-length collection of poetry, and many of her poems, like the one below, are meditations on love and death viewed through the lens of nature.


It is dawn

And your stilled limbs gesture wildly behind
a lifting pall of sheets.

Your feet begin, articulating steps
as your spirit returns to your body, breath by upward

breath, the way a traveler returns to a house left locked,
footing that final hill home, toward the surprise of the familiar.

You are waking to a day you know, and yet have not known.
The crust in your eyes, the crust of the earth;

your feet are linked with all feet falling
on all other floors on the floor of the world;

kin by contact, your soles by osmosis the soles
of every sleeper rising

from exhaustion curled into reprieve.
Through the floor it seems,

there is one common step.
Without sensing it, you rise and

set your heels on the heels of another.
On the opposite face of this watch, doubling your tracks,

is another waker, walker,
whose sorrows and joys

you will never know,
but who walks, as you do,

across magma.
[divider]Guest Contributor[/divider]

caroline_parke_profile_squareAbout Our Contributor

In addition to writing poetry, Caroline Parke loves big dogs, whiskey/porches, and traveling. She graduated from Davidson College in 2011 and is currently a student at Stanford Law School. She lives in Palo Alto with Bonnie, her red standard poodle.