Skip to main content

Amy Bagwell and Robert Martin Evans :: Six poems

Plonger en apnée



an aqualung

the thin                        branches

 to a delicate

             state                            more

  temporary                      than



  the first time        I came
   out of you

 I felt

I’d left too

  much behind 

                                                a concrete


                                                   in the current

little sticks                               past

To Not Get Carried Away

Look closer
the seahorse’s tail
is not magical, not whimsical,
and never propels—

It is a desperate tether,

and seahorses strain
against nature, screaming
inside their heads,
all their lives.

All Night Breakfast Wine

She takes my hand
closes the fingers
kisses each knuckle

I watch her close
try to learn something

She holds up the fist
lets it drop hard
on the table

I help it bang

This is how we are
with each other

Your Wounds and I

Sometimes, I want you
in pieces. I want to swallow your voice.
I want to pocket your fractured eyes, take molds
of your broad hands and cast hundreds
in beeswax. I will warm them into
nothing when you’re gone.

How soft my hands become.

Always, like Carver’s rain,
I want to be not forgotten. While you sleep,
I’ll finger honey into your cuts without altering
even your breathing. When you finish
dreaming of my hands, your
wounds and I are gone.

My Hennessy Has a Half-life

Here’s how:
every glass I
pour I use
half of what
I had last

time—this golden
curved ceiling
your arms reach
folding into me


june. my
fig tree’s covered
in fists for you, love, hard
for now, soon scarlet
on the inside.

All Night Breakfast Wine is a collaboration by Amy Bagwell and Robert Martin Evans. Half Amy’s work, half Bobby’s, it tells two dooomed love stories that, through the collaboration, became one. They didn’t set out to write it together, but as they exchanged work, the throughline leapt out, and the poems written since have sewn themselves into one another.

Amy Bagwell’s poems are/ will soon be in The Eyewear Review, Terminus Magazine, Vallum: Contemporary Poetry, Dusie Tuesday poems, and Figdust, along with the anthologies Topograph and Boomtown. She makes text art and co-directs Wall Poems, Inc., a mural project, and Goodyear Arts, an arts residency program. She received an MFA from Queens University of Charlotte and teaches Literature at Central Piedmont Community College.

Robert Martin Evans is a freelance translator and editor. His poetry has appeared in Vallum, Topograph, Oratorealis and Where is the river, and as one of the Wall Poems of Charlotte. In 2012, he was longlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize. He is a member of the selection committee at


Popular posts from this blog

submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

about :: where is the river

where is the river :: a poetry experiment is a bi-monthly poetry journal open to a variety of aesthetics, forms and experiences, with a preference towards showcasing work by emerging writers. There is no single path, nor any single way. Founded in September 2017. Edited by Kiefer JD Logan.

J.D. Nelson :: Four poems

  bible hawk rose mike white seas   this is the lang of the proper saint   we left the show to see the boats   when one thing becomes the other why I can’t sleep in the shower?   this is the back of the wallet where the money turns red     right now with the animated piggy just like a clock monster up at the hour of monstering I’m talking about the friendly sesame street monsters, not scary monsters   aha! the smart horse was named to the president’s table for the third straight year   earth is in hiding that’s what it’s doing way out here in the milky way   gumby up           gully gulch would you like a diet coke to smoke?   in the sea tree a clean heaven of the snowy earth that miracle jones to summon a carlson   sleeping lion was a calm red of the wolf better than biff              that common ultra saturn for the charge of monsters be the cold one in the egg   the king of the winter snows walking the dream dog in sears       to shape the f