Back to Issue Fifty-Nine

UNREMARKABLE

by KATEY FUNDERBURGH

Rosebushes, one at the end of each row of vineyard grapes, will show the first signs
of disease. In the ring of disturbed soil around the bushes, Starlings look like
they’re playing.

One of my students arrives to class crying for the lanternflies, too many flattened bodies
at her feet, the wholeness of their speckled torsos beneath the weight of her shoe.
The trees are dying faster now.

After needling the big dipper into my collarbone, the acupuncturists’s fingers
lingered on my left wrist before warning my pulse thrums the pace of infertility.

What was it I meant to say?

Did you read about the baby formula drowned in the ocean?
Not far enough offshore for the hungry not to watch, bombs dropped
on entire boats of food.

I avoid the eyes of the abortion protestor. Her child lies on his back on the concrete
across the tops of her tennis shoes, holds a red firetruck up to the birdless sky.
Ambulance noises emerge from the small pink bulb of his mouth.

 

Katey Funderburgh (she/her) is a queer poet raised in the Rocky Mountains. Currently residing in Santa Fe, NM, she is a creative writing teacher, an abortion doula, and an abolitionist. Katey is a Best New Poets 2025 Finalist, with other publications in The Rumpus and Indiana Review.

 

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