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Featured Poet: Kimberly Campanello

Eyewear is glad to welcome Kimberly Campanello (pictured) this very early Friday (so early it is Thursday!).  She was born in Elkhart, Indiana. Her chapbook Consent will be available from Wurm Press’ mimeorevolution in April 2011.

She was selected to read in the 2011 Poetry Ireland Introductions Series and was featured poet in the summer 2010 issue of The Stinging Fly. Her work has also appeared in nthposition, The Cream City Review, Italian Americana, and GulfStream, among other journals.

Campanello is an assistant editor of Rowboat, a new magazine dedicated to poetry in translation. She is completing a PhD in Creative Writing at Middlesex University in London. I've much enjoyed meeting her - she's smart, vibrant, and very talented.

Comme le feu, l’amour n’établit sa clarté/que sur la faute et la beauté des bois en cendres…  –Philippe Jaccottet

The orange on the horizon—a boat with curved Viking sails
in flames. No, it’s the moon rising. I still want to cry for help.
The ring-necked dove crying for help. The one with the broken

wing that we took to the rehabilitation center. The only thing
to do with a ring-necked dove is wring its neck. A non-native species,
they probably fed it to an ailing osprey. A boat with curved Viking

sails in flames. In Dublin, they built an office on the best
Viking site they had. The only thing to do with a ring-necked
dove is wring its neckWe’re just mixed-up capitalists. It’s nothing personal.

A fire—the orange on the horizon—takes seven days to reach us.
Day one we laughed and skimmed ash off the sea. Day seven
the gardener stayed behind, drawing circles of water

around the horse, letting the cars finally explode.
The orange on the horizon—the surplus value we’ll never extract.
I can’t seem to drive my feet deep enough in the sand to hold me,

to keep me from treading water. I must float or stand. The moonrise
reproducing the means of production. This shoe is heavy and seeks
non-native species—Cuban tree frogs and iguanas—for smashing.

The only thing to do with a ring-necked dove is wring its neck.
Dear Orange on the Horizon, or to Whom It May
Concern: For just five minutes give us something different.

A tall glass building, windows with no drapery, and people
and doves we can watch rehabilitate. Draw a ring of ash
around my neck, for love. I will float and stand.

poem by Kimberly Campanello; published online with permission of the poet

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