‘The Farthest West’ by Annelise Berghenti

There are mountains where you are.
Hundreds of miles of them, and desert.

The days when you remember to eat,
it’s late at night. All around you are layers

of dusk. It isn’t what you thought it would be.
Seafood on mountaintops, parrots

in paper bags. Weeks pass, and all you can recall
is dust in your eyes and a filthy honey smell.

You collect salamanders wearing crowns.
They belong to you. Lie down in the sand.

There’s nothing to see.
A planet of grief revolves in your throat.

From issue #3: autumn/winter 2016

About the Author
Annelise Berghenti is a poetry MFA candidate at Columbia University, New York. She grew up in Dublin, where she studied English at Trinity College.