Šari Dale
The child eats trout eyes.
Like grapes, they pop

in her mouth. The skins
taste like smoke. She

likes to be seen chewing,
her lips white with oil.

Being unbearable occurs
to her. It's like music,

Eminem in Grandpa's
sauna. Brow scaled with

sweat, she trips into fire
twice before learning

to walk forward while
raking stones from sand.

Nothing has to happen,
but she questions it.

She brings beer to Uncle
and drinks lake water

on the low. On the dock,
barefoot, her mother

speaks to Sudbury loons.
The child's language

is inadequate. She sings
m English on an over-

turned tub. Someone
brings her fishing. They

call her by her sister's
name, which is a garden.

She feeds dirt to the
worms, fingernails black

brown. Uncle tosses trout
in the boat. Later he'll

burn them on the BBQ,
and someone'll pass the

child a paper plate. When
she chews, a minnow

will slip from her left ear.
The slime will stain her

tight tankini. She likely
needs a new one anyhow.
from the journal THE MALAHAT REVIEW
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Looking back on “Trout Eyes," I feel that it’s a poem about experiencing the world without having the language to explain it—everything is so immediate. As a child, I wanted to understand why things were the way they were. What did adults know that made them adults? I couldn’t see the “logical" connections between things, and, somehow, that made them seem very strange and miraculous.

Šari Dale on "Trout Eyes"
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The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering Redefined

"The cowboy poets are, almost to a person, real cowboys, defined by what they do....physical work in support of cattling operations, ranch work, which can happen, among other places, on the range, in the rodeo ring, on the farm, at the feed store, in the forest, on the mountain, and in the home–and not by race, gender, or a simple-minded and violent reactivity."
 
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