Magdalena Poost

tender collector
public space,  storytelling, & climate



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writings
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don’t





turnips explode in
the ground. my body inflates
with bile, the cat on the street
does not notice

compare the red blooms
on your neck/to those in a vase. notice the sky
turn yellow. ask when.

you say not yet when
I ask if you love her. five mosquitoes
bite my fingertips, one after another.
this is my life
now. you tell me her name, while a bald man
holds his daughter’s ankles, she perches
on his shoulders and rubs a circle
into his scalp
I make a wish

simply put,
the earth heaves

an ocean on top of a fish.
a tender bed.