A Dream After Watching Stalker During Fire Season
The Stalker brought us here
to speak to a telephone—a landline
in a toxic room. The landscape here
was changed by some long dead
company that never took
the blame. Before we can
use the phone, we have to pass through
a corridor made of sand,
and this journey makes me think:
How is sand made into glass?
The Stalker says we’ll have to tell
our secrets, and once he hears
ours, he’ll spill
his too. He brings us
to a barren land, but he knows
each little change in the landscape,
and though change can feel
like witchcraft, he makes us
hold onto science by recording
each waving, little, dry
piece of grass—camera in hand.
Erin Carlyle (she/her) is a poet living in Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetry often explores the connections between poverty, place, and girlhood, and can be found in journals such as Tupelo Quarterly, Ruminate, Arts and Letters, Jet Fuel, and Prairie Schooner. Her debut full-length collection, Magnolia Canopy Otherworld, is out now on Driftwood Press. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Creative Writing with an emphasis on poetry at Georgia State University.