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Five Micro Poems by Louise Robertson| #thesideshow

Louise Robertson

Five Micro Poems

by Louise Robertson


What are the neighbors doing with that?
Digging new pipework? Or making
a bomb shelter? A dugout?
The backhoe in the street
smells like — well, I thought
it would smell like
coins and dirt — turns
out it smells like

a grave.



Morning is a weapon.
Even the 1 AM sky is
thinking about getting pale,
spilt blood of daybreak.
Sunrise is the knife that
eases one body from another.
Our scent is everywhere
in the sheets,
in my mouth. The room
is stuffed with it. I would do lines of
the smell on my hands all day,
so wait as long as I can
to wash.

Advice for Women

Wash the body, dress the body,
paint the body, brush straight
the body’s hair. Stand before
the altar of the body. Say good things
over the body. Say there was love.
List the family members. Close
the lid. Crank. Dirt.

Not Water

You are not water. You want to be
water. You want to slither into
the cracks of my life, fingering
the blank spots, filling
the spaces left by hunger. You are root
who grows hard and holds fast
inside me.


My cat plays for hours with
a broken rubber band.

If I hit the rubber band
with my foot, it keeps
him going. When

an apocalypse arrives,
we’ll build all this up

again, after, rubber band, cat,
hitting the floor with my toe.

Louise Robertson’s has completed the following checklist in no particular order: Slam teams. Journal publications. Poetry event organizer. College degree. MFA in poetry. Full-length book (The Naming Of, Brick Cave Media). Trouble sleeping. Tries to be nice. Loves biking and swimming. Hates running. Does it anyway. Good at word games. Loves her two kids children all the time.