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Kettle Steam

by Ava Marie

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1.
Kettle Steam 04:16
drag your mattress to the field dream of mice and leave the kettle on nocturnals in the trees all black and hungry fresh blood on our palms teeth like seed husks on the ground in the shadow of our estates starving body broken rinds and hairless bones and by the morn i’ll be nothing more than the echo of cannon fire from a century old war just applied heat and kettle steam a shrieking substance evaporating violently and the first day of my life went exactly as planned they sang go, go and the last day of my life went exactly as planned they plead come home, come home and my heart was a picture of a house by a harbor and your heart was a statue in a garden carved from coral and my heart was a small silver flip calendar and your heart was a bookshelf with the epilogues all torn and a paperback copy of 1984 and my heart was a portrait of my grandfather when he was 18 in the army in the second world war and your heart was a damp plain in the rear view mirror and my heart was the interstate passing the adjar passenger door
2.
Only Sea 04:17
nests in the broke down cars that sleep in the trailer park gathered twigs and silvered rings and the people just waking up to their daughters and stale coffee cups and all the glaciers going gone Well i dredged up loam i dredged up exposures took when i was 4 of a stranger dressed in silk and bearing urns of ocean floor oh dry harbor I lay upon your belly half asleep and i sift through crates full of sand and childrens shoes cigar boxes full of fish bones and books i gave to you wound cassettes unfurled recordings of when you first learned to speak through tiny teeth breath thick as milk and that deep deep blue flashlights in mouths we crawled on hands and knees we tied our lights to twine unraveling and watched them as they sank into the deep bodies fed by glaciers til they're going gone and you find only sea only sea
3.
White Hides 03:06
try and stay awake these highways are for wounded deer with white hides and limp legs burning vessels drenched in fuel wear your brightest gown the forests are for hunters sons blessed with gaping mouths and hearts weighted with diving bells and the shots they sang and the does they ran and you bit your tongue and left with spotless hands wash the sap from your ears old voices crackle through the radio drink some of this my dear it’ll warm your cold toes and i know its hard to breathe but this brackish lakes for settling in sink your dresser and weight your bed with heavy stones and sediment and i loved you still despite the salt and loam that tucked you in and caked your bones i can’t keep you from seeping in
4.
Kathleen Carter cried the day the circuits broke white hot flaming fields butchers boys wrapped up in the blankets and overcoats and she skinned her knee and took the long way home and saw the dog she lost when she was 12 years old she said have you seen dad that man in the red baseball cap who left water by your bed when you were sent home sick and behind the house where you used to live is a beach pyre licking salty limbs our dirty bedsheets washed up clean after weeks of rain and lead laden dreams coarse machinery mechanical throat needlepoint nest in the hollowed hull of the furnace your bones crave repose your frame a berth born from wayward wood and cold clotted earth I’ll never find out who took you in after you spent all day chasing stray dogs through the wet leaves broken feet mud on your face I’ll never know (x4) I’ll never know the length of your reach across the mattress at the dregs of day or the contents of your dresser or where the river basin drains I’ll never know
5.
of all the books stacked behind your curtains of all the photographs piled ankle high pictures of the desert in bold live color a careened vessel and you burning fever bright you stood with parted lips and your arms folded I averted my gaze to your frozen laundry lines you wiped my brow and I cowered and quivered till you shut the door and turned off all the lights moving slowly as a hunter set your snares and sleep the night trace the footprints of another slow your breath take aim and fire of all the gowns left in your mother's attic of all the loose nails of all the men who wait outside the one with missing fingers was your favorite kept you in his wallet beside a draft card to remind of the strange light that lingers from the tool shed long after he’s come in and said goodnight of the weekend trips you took to sarasota and the houses you left hurriedly in the night do you recall the year Joseph Foster died? It was the same we raised up our wooden shell and dwelt down by the sea for a season made our beds and loved each other well I’d wake some mornings to your call from the garden Id stumble forth hunched in my sun pricked skin and find you out of breath beneath the roses Id lay me down exhale and sink right in moving slowly as a hunter set your snares and sleep the night trace the footprints of another slow your breath take aim and fire
6.
the night i snagged my sleeve on your fence was just around the same you wrapped yourself up in white and changed your maiden name and now Im hungry for a body or a long distance call and Charlie says shes never been happier but she still sleeps all day and me Im working the weekend and saving all my pay for a marble coast and a motel room booked for May and what Id give to be anywhere else when Im sweating out a fever in a strangers house and Its 2 am and you're calling again and you're sick of all the silence but you don’t answer it with your ear to the wall listen for the mice as they tend to their young wonder about time and the boy that you were with your brothers rifle and a wounded bird I caught you fork right by the power socket I caught you matches crumpled in your pocket I caught you and Im not letting go I caught you sinking rafts out on the water I caught you laying with the sheriff's daughter I caught you and Im not letting go (sung in rounds with “letting go”) breaking tiny insect legs embarrassed by the tool shed throwing rocks at passing trains anxious to duck your head slept out in the graveyard the blankets were far too thin hitch hiked to Casco missed you and walked home again

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released April 3, 2015

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Ava Marie Poultney, Vermont

5 piece Indie from central//western Vermont. Collections of songs constructed from the memorable remnants of reoccurring dreams, and early childhood.

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