top of page

I Returned Your Chest

—Eartha Davis

I Returned Your Chest

& the small animal dreaming there. It was a transfer of forest, a willow stitch. Four 

fingers on a breastbone. Blazing constellation. Let me sing for you, darling. The animal 

inside: dreaming like the word over. Like slow-feeding rivers. Let me sing, darling, to the bird  

on our tongue. Our salt is silent. Our palms: tethering touch to earth. Feet to feather. & we 

speak, softly, of hand-feeding the meadows. Letting redwoods open us, speak to us.  

Dandelion clocks descending on a Mountain breast. Wanting, you said, is reserved for  

Mountain. Waiting, I say, is reserved for willow or greenwood. But what came first: wait 

or weight?  The beautiful in the breaking, or the breaking beautiful? Now: our eyes are foaming baskets. Our oceans: the sound the heart makes as she breathes. & the dusk yolks —  

slow, yes, then fast — to remain a little in love, a little in loss.

About

EARTHA DAVIS is a 19 year-old who placed second in the 2022 Global Woorilla Poetry Prize Youth Section & has been nominated for Best of the Net, with work published or forthcoming in Wildness, RABBIT, Frozen Sea, Minarets, South Florida Poetry Journal, JMWW, LEON Literary Review, Arboreal Magazine, ELJ Editions, the Basilisk Tree, the Stirling Review, Where the Meadows Reside, Discretionary Love, Sour Cherry Magazine, Revolute, & Eunoia Review, among others. She honours her Ngāpuhi ancestors and the Wiradjuri people, on whose land she lives, breathes, and writes.

bottom of page