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T. Clear

T. Clear

T. Clear's Website

T. Clear was born the sixth of seven children, into a noisy, crowded and loving household, in a house bumped up against Pacific Northwest second-growth woodlands, open fields and orchards. Her earliest memories are of wandering among Douglas firs and alders, her legs skirted in bracken ferns, ever-wary of stinging nettles. She and her five sisters harvested hazelnuts and apples, blackberries and rhubarb, the promise of pie luring them back into the kitchen where all nine family members gathered each evening for supper. It was a gentle life and provided the landscape from which her writing has grown.

After many years working in glass art, she now works in Human Relations for Seattle Cider Company.


A House, Undone: $16.00

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Poem from A House, Undone

Table

Not an island, not an isthmus
or a spit. Not a peninsula.
The kitchen table is a land mass
untethered to the vinyl floor,
prone to slippage if it weren’t
for the lumbered-mass of it.
Built waist high, meant for larger tools
than a whisk, a spatula, a cooling rack.
Meant for a saw, hammer, drill.
Raw-edged planks, no fussy trim.
Wrestled up the basement steps
and put into service
after a decade of disuse.
Long enough to lay out a dead man
on a cloth, if there was need.
Or a woman.
Long enough to lay out 30 pies.