In Fragments, In Streams

TOM MCAFEE DISCOVERY FEATURE TaIvikki Ansel Talvikki Ansel is a graduate student in Creative Writing at the University of Indiana. These poems are excerpted from a larger sonnet sequence growing out of her experiences working in the Brazilian rain forest. The Tom McAfee Discovery Feature is a continuing series to showcase the work of an outstanding young poet who has not yet published a book. The prize is funded by the family and friends of Tom McAfee. IN FRAGMENTS, IN STREAMS / Talvikki Ansel At night, coolness Uke water lapping around our hammocks, wrapped in a woolen blanket, Td rock, Usten for the laughingfrogs , the potoo's "poor-me-aU-alone," one foot pushing off from the ground. I never expected this: a bird's small, pale eggs in a laced-up palm frond; how easily the trees would fall, tilting from the fine earth and coming down with a tangle of vines. Afloat in the green island of forest, slipping into the stream each evening, the minnows would nudge my shoulders and spine. A happiness as complete as belief, suspended mid-air, the nest in the leaf. The Missouri Review · 253 11. There is no one to tell this to now; how, after, I knew the difference between light and sunlight when I left Brazil, the frogs Uke bright jewels after a rain. To the right of the path by the stream a coral snake Uke a tender, beaded thread; the balance of famUiarity and awe. Sometimes now at night, I close my eyes and can hear silence and then the piha's piercing cry. I stUl keep a cake of Phebo soap hidden in a drawer, a corroded watch, slides that are overexposed, washed-out from sun, an occasional luminous photograph in fog. But clearings, the sky white, earth black. 254 · The Missouri Review Talvikki Ansel 111. HaUey's Comet crossed the jungle sky that April; six mornings in a row I woke to hike out to a clearing and never saw it. Somewhere above the low clouds, the consteUations: Cruzeiro do sul, all wings and tail like a giant macaw. Dust and rain puddles. Who knows what comes before, or traUs after; my first night in the city, a sloth on the headboard, my sudden fear: what have I done, this time? A bat in the net at dawn: leaf-nosed, the ancient face famiUar, inscrutable, Uke the eroded traU, the mute sloth's remnant stub of taU. Talvikki Ansel The Missouri Review · 255 IV. In the camp, the leaf-cutter ants defoliate a tree, piece by piece they carry the green squares into the ground. Ozmundo the mateiro's left eye is cloudy; he brings three chickens to the camp, their crows confuse me at dawn. A BBC crew comes out, I don't want to see them; below my hammock: my boots and socks, shirt, pants, belt and headlamp; I dress as I wake. I don't want their cerveja, fresh fruit, jokes about the instabUity of hammocks; they hardly notice me anyway. Eating last night's cold rice that morning, an ant clung to the soft underside of my tongue. 256 · The Missouri Review Talvikki Ansel V. Along the road, the bright painted crosses on the steepest banks, over-turned buses, people waiting in the rain. It is Uke a deep gouge with smaller rivers running down it. The mud sUck as ice, and driving we slide sideways. My last day in the forest I tilt my head back in the stream, the palms silhouetted against the sky, under my butt the water hoUows out sand; why did I come here? Everything sUps away. On the road, the man with a gun, a dead chachalaca slung at his waist; we arrive in the city, rain clouds stud the grey sky, my clothes are reddened with mud. Talvikki Ansel The Missouri Review · 257 Vl. In the airport when I left, a scissortailed flycatcher way above, between the glass dome and grey sky. Everything in bits and pieces now, the glass of the plane against my forehead, below the river silver among thick trees. The come and go of images, a dove filUng my hand. I wouldn...