Andrew Szilvasy


The shale-hued baking pan, shorn of broccoli, wedged
upwards, hides today’s archaeology

with almost geologic accuracy.
Yes, only a few utensils have slipped to the bottom,

rabbits in the sink’s Precambrian
to fool some modern Haldane into faith.

The mess isn’t beautiful, but that it stands
astounds, as if there was design behind

this Lechevallier I hesitate to touch.
I don’t use gloves; limousine liberal that

I am, I have organic dish soap, citrus-
scented and refreshing to nose and hand.

Just below the Holocene are bits
of crust from a ham sandwich and splashes of mustard.

I can recreate the lunch from evidence,
except the cup is upside down: the liquid lost.

Finally, I lift the plate, flip it and rinse it,
and gently place the artifact with the others

in the drying rack. The steak knives are last,
frayed bits of sacrifice still in their teeth.

Done, I see a perfect emptiness:
a whole history erased from the basin.

Though thirsty, I refuse a glass of water;
I don’t even pour my beer out of the can.

Andrew teaches British Literature outside of Boston, and has poems appearing or forthcoming in
CutBank, Barrow Street, Smartish Pace, Tar River Poetry, The American Journal of Poetry, and
RHINO, among others. He lives in Boston with his wife.



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Bruce J. Berger

Joe Bishop

Dan Campion

John Delaney

Katherine Fallon

David Lee Garrison

Ted Jean

Laurie Lamon

Michael Lauchlan

Sean Lause

Peter Leight

Laura Manuelidis

Susan McLean

Nicholas Molbert

Jesse Morales

James P. Nicola

Jean Nordhaus

Patric Pepper

Simon Perchik

John Perrault

Roger Pfingston

Mark Rubin

Michael Salcman

Andrew Szilvasy

Faith Williams

Terence Winch

Anne Harding Woodworth














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