one) observe the central stem of a cut flower. now imagine water delivered to a small,
chalk-soft mouth: this is the basis of Dish.
two) to conjure Dish, say shallow three times. then think around the edges of a
freshwater fish.
three) bowl of soup glossed in oil, salted and boiled over a small fire.
four) green, beige, yellow-white, green-beige, green-brown, green-green.
five) scent of crema. or soil after long rain.
six) why should perception bypass the mouth? when I sip from its ledge, a gritty
sweetness lingers.
seven) significance or coincidence: the year of its making is the year of my birth.
eight) Dish is briny air & a newborn cry; the meeting of land & sea; a major city.
nine) I want to drink wholly from Dish. I want to perform its neat formality.
ten) on the screen it appears unset. behind gallery glass it disappears as a droplet
must into a larger body of water.
eleven) synonyms for Dish: mycelia; the decorative arts; tea leaves in large font.
twelve) potential and contradiction: ask yourself: if steamed leaves lose their lustre,
how do we account for the earth’s abiding greenness?
thirteen) despite a long-ago sear, the surface of Dish remains porous, unleavened as
wet clay.
fourteen) call this abundance. set your rivercraft upon a flood.
fifteen) if the mind’s eye is lush topsoil then Dish is gleaming roots.
sixteen) what more can I say? what words will reflect this satiny lather, this small
Dish glazed like a small earth?
seventeen) marsh-dweller.
eighteen) terrene device.
nineteen) vessel dense as a nutrient.
_______________
Isabella G. Mead is a poet from Melbourne, Australia. Her debut poetry collection, The
Infant Vine, will be published by UWAP in 2024. She is currently a PhD candidate in
Creative Writing at Monash University. She lives and raises her young family on unceded
Wurundjeri land.
This poem was chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
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