Poems by Evan Nagle

• At a Train Junction Near Foss Lake, Utah
• New Midwestern Woman
• Celery

Celery

            Sad water
            in the cold wet Spring.
            She chops the green celery
            headless, footless.
            The faucet's shivering aqueduct.
            I wake to the cutting
            board's clank, the smell
            of butchered plants
            on her fingers.
            She licks the dislodged
            veins that stick
            to the knife. The white
            plate: a watery
            mess.  Twelve chilled
            bites, severed
            from the stalk's green limb.