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Moist Poetry Journal

a high humidity journal of poetry

Poetry

“As for sorrow” and “Poet” by Liane Tyrrel

June 23, 2025 MPJ
As for sorrow

Having been struck
early and having
not ended
A swallow narrowed
a barn door.
Some shot
in the distance
The instinctive heat
of the body
The horns of 
laughter they rang
at irregular intervals.
The laughter.
Poet

I won't clear the sound of
voices curtain crossing the 
hall. Or hide my near
heart racing, The circlets
of childhood, I want
chant and gesture. The lamb
so bent to ground,
to eat in plain light.
I am not weak 'I move
close but keep from closing.
Take its heat 'Often in waves
dizzied at borrowed time
This the way it came
a whole shape The material
of the world bound to
movement and little birds
like water, I find words,
for look in green field.
I live there I am
possessed I am not sorry
My children have grown
I am my mother I am
lusher At night this town.
So strangely lit to get
there The sky, call its
self low circling and likely
as any thing So spare
the fields dreamed remnants
What is left? I stand
there in that door, with 
small sound billowing by
the handful through this
lefthanded mind, my mother
and I all wings of birds
it feels magnetic I say
that resistance the current remembered my whole hand in

​​Liane Tyrrel is a poet and painter. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, Image Journal, and Four Way Review among others.

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