Terese Svoboda


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I stand at the dock and the rope goes taut.
Bricks in the hold, the boat wallows,
waves whip themselves.

I bring out the knife. The umbilical’s been cut.
The boy removes his hands from his pockets.
How far do you think you can row?

The rope beats free. The man sits
and sweats at the oars, the boy bails.
The boat doesn’t move.

The man says I’m the moon. I’m not.
The boy doesn’t say.
Bricks shift in the bow.


Terese Svoboda: A Guggenheim fellow, Terese Svoboda is the author of six books of prose, five books of poetry, a memoir and a book of translations.


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MadHat, Issue 15, Winter 2013-2014