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Allelopathy

P. Q. R. Anderson | Poetry

In which one plant exudes
chemicals to suppress another
species. The cunning violence
of red nature. See the chloro-
phyll fail, the vine etiolate:
God’s dubious acre, the acre’s
dubious god. How, now, we
have published toxicity. Still
days in winter, the photo-
chemical smog, rusty as marrow’s
own begun blood. Air comes
cold off the Benguela.
We should say ‘perishing’,
but for the length of a morning
it is sweet to breathe
rinsed air, that was once always
and is now respite. Snag
of the inhalation. Far out
across those dredged quadrants
and inland where the wheat
comes blue, we are all dying
of contrivance, molecular
plastics, of words that were once
beautiful as groundwater,
and rain, and shade, and sky.