Ocean Radish: A Correspondence

By

Dear Ocean:

I enter any margin with such a blend of hope and terror—
I’m writing this letter with a sunburn on my chest and it is processing me.

A pilgrimage — taking a long walk to the poetry bookstore to retrieve a text.
Alexander slipped the book to me through a slot.

_____I write to get ahead of thought
_____I write YOU to get ahead of thought

tree radio, hair bonnet,
an outermost curve
of petal or bluest flume

Year after year
Vowels ovulate

When I hear the word ‘antibodies’
jangling m&ms disco dance

orange poppies— huddled together in a silky stadium

_____This is not a poem!
_____This is a letter
_____like a rascal__gone
_______________gone
_______________gone

*
Dear Radish:

this letter is powered by the
_____steam engine of breath

the trellises of bird song
_____that make their own vine
__________of afternoon light

the way my chest would
_____open up the feelings
__________of the song

Is the poem on the underside
_____if I lift this letter up
__________like a barnacled rock?

the local, the cull of details
_____the loco (maybe crazy)
__________and loco(motion)

the left margin is left spacious
_____(the silence respected)

*
Dear Ocean:

Do you remember that HD line…
“if you take the moon in your hands, and turn it round, you’re there…” 

all those years robust with hotel guests
_____cheese platters
_____saying too much or too little
_____kneeling down to fit in photos

What is tentative and what is sensing…
plant a precipice between them

John Prine, is he still in the bardo?
a typewriter stately, and white paper pointing, toward the sky

I’ve always loved the quiet thunders
_____Voila oysters!
_____Hull [of] lullaby

I don’t know why certain news bites our ears …

_____A sieve
_____Caught his sleeve

_____What [strikethrough] is gold
_____Will hold

dry seaweeds / the underside / bright amber
speaks directly to YOU

*
Dear Radish:

after the outermost curve
_____apply the salve locally
the blue-black brush of the crow

begins in cursive but slows
down to individual
_______________letter
__________print

the letter H, like hahaha,
_____not funny, fate

things are growing
_____and blooming
like mad that need
_____no help or thought-
__________form from me

*
Dear Ocean:

Writing must be done
_____at the 13th hour

Moonlight Serenade
_____Soleil
remind me to polish my antennae

notes heard permeating floors
_____God (always God)
_____sweet and weird

bird became verb, an ocean radish
_____and birth is happening

_____my mom,
_____your mom
_____many ears inside your palm

a soccer ball rolls, a field of strong legs

_____shuttled to the hospital
_____in hospital hallways

the sun entered
the sun directly

_____writing must be done
_____the slug poeming
_____the snail amplified

words follow me around
_____a daily music
floored, hard not to be

*
Dear Radish:

I Can’t Wait to Hug
_____My Mom

_____SCREAM

__Heat, a medicinal
use

speech continues
contentment _beyond
_____moist _author
who’s evening star

about the muddle
_____that played
__________the puddle:
isn’t hearing
_____the last to go?

washing the coffee pot
_____black mud
_____musical     finger     tips

_____astronaut   suit         massages

sad spills
little_____damage        pleasures
__________dream
__________dictionaries
incoheres
_____cutting into skin
of__out of peach          _season

_____who’s dedication
_____like a visitation
__________sip

 


Samar Abulhassan & Sierra Nelson

Samar Abulhassan is a teaching artist and poet living in Seattle. She is a Jack Straw Writer and holds an M.F.A. from Colorado State University. Born to Lebanese immigrants and raised with multiple languages, she is a 2006 Hedgebrook alum and the author of six chapbooks, including Farah and Nocturnal Temple. Samar has worked with Seattle Arts & Lectures’ Writers in the Schools since 2008, with Hugo House since 2012, and as a teaching artist for the Skagit River Poetry Foundation since 2010. Samar also participated in the 2024 Skagit River Poetry Festival. In 2016, Samar received a CityArtist grant to aid in completing a novel-in-poems reflecting on memory, longing, and the Arabic alphabet.

Sierra Nelson is a Seattle-based poet, essayist, and multimedia performance and installation artist, with an M.F.A. from University of Washington. Nelson’s books include The Lachrymose Report (PoetryNW Editions), I Take Back the Sponge Cake (Rose Metal Press) made with artist Loren Erdrich and selected by Anne Carson for NYU’s Washington Square Collaboration Prize, and Three Hearts: An Anthology of Cephalopod Poetry (editor, World Enough Writers).