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  • Erin Clark

Another life

Erin Clark

another life, New York state

I married him. We moved

into a house little bigger than a trailer

but it was ours. He fixes cars

and is kind to children. Blue-green

eyes and good at driving. That neat beard,

even then.

another life, Zaragoza

I bought that finca, that dry farm, pittance

for us peasants, hashtag homestead goals. The cows

speak Español, the birds

do not speak at all. The churches

remember their heaviness, their

silvered betrayal.

another life, Scunthorpe

I’d have taken the job for the hidden profanity

(hers or the town’s).

Maybe it was so. Black wool hides

a multitude

in plain sight.

another life, Chicago

I bled my heart out. The city nearest

pressed me to itself just like any city,

bid me, drink deep, from the thick

aortic pulsing.

another life, the bottom of the lake

The sensation of running, tumbling, rolling

down the sand dunes towards what will become a sunset

to write home about:

that, only beneath

rough, cold waves,

no salt to clean between

my teeth, my sockets.

Sincerely yours,



Erin Clark (she/her) is an American writer and priest living in London. Her poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in the New Critique, Oxonian Review, Geez, Mash, The Hour, The Primer, Free Verse Revolution, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Whom Sea Left Behind will be published in 2023 by Alien Buddha Press. She is the author of the nonfiction Sacred Pavement (2021, That Guy's House). She can be found online at or on Twitter @e_m_clark.


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