Poetry / Drew Krewer
:: Manufacturing Resilience In Tifton, GA ::
When we talk about dog years, we are discussing trajectories of death. Instead, let’s discuss a lawnmower that doesn’t shear but recreates wildlife in its wake. Mow down the world in an elaborate frenzy against the extinction of grass. Buried treasure crazed the neighborhood, taught children the art of extraction, of taking profit from the earth. Sometimes, I find myself inside empty supermarkets, with no aisles. I am small, sissy, pre-industrial; convenience has abandoned me––the tabloids, the candy— all of it, not here, not necessary. Everything echoing the emptiness of the year––the stroke of an impressionist leaving me with a suggestion of a face and conversations with decorative whispers. The portrait––don't remember me this way. Remember me as pixels, as wildflowers, as chihuahua. What is your earliest memory of a natural disaster? Was it close or far away? While the water is still here and clear, I want to wade through and dissolve like a vivid watercolor. Tell the dwarfed, frightened fish that the diatom has arrived, that it is durable and can handle this region of pain. We can only dive so many times to the beginning, where we correct the heart from hateful thresholds and not every tree takes in the same amount of light.
From the writer
:: Account ::
This poem comes from a finished manuscript I started writing in early 2015 just before election season kicked into full force. As our country unfolded in both startling and perhaps expected ways, I found myself unable to identify and characterize what I was feeling in my mind and body; however, I knew I wanted to find a way to access and explore these latencies. On Instagram, I found myself following several digital artists, and I realized the art was so compelling to me because it was providing an avenue to access what my body was trying to tell me. Soon thereafter, I created a secondary Instagram account, curating a list of 100 digital artists that somehow felt aligned with my vision. Exploring and cycling through massive amounts of imagery from these accounts (over the course of four years) is what ultimately created the fabric of these poems.
Drew Krewer is author of the chapbook Ars Warholica (Spork Press, 2010). His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Troubling the Line: Trans and Genderqueer Poetry and Poetics, Diagram, LIT, and Dream Pop, among other publications. He holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of Arizona and lives in the desert.