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    Hawk Parable
    Hawk Parable
    Hawk Parable
    Ebook108 pages47 minutes

    Hawk Parable

    By Tyler Mills

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    About this ebook

    Hawk Parable begins with a family mystery and engages with the limits of historical knowledge—particularly of the atomic bombs the US dropped at the end of the Second World War and the repercussions of atomic tests the US conducted throughout the twentieth century. These poems explore a space between environmental crisis and a crisis of conscience. As a lyric collection, Hawk Parable begins as a meditation on the author's grandfather's possible involvement in the Nagasaki mission and moves through poems that engage with the legacy of nuclear testing on our global environment. At times, Hawk Parable borrows language from declassified nuclear test films, survivor accounts of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, scientific studies of bird migrations through the Nevada Test Site, and the author's grandfather's letters. This book enacts what it means to encounter fragments—of historical records, family stories, and survivor accounts—through exploring a variety of forms. Hawk Parable seeks what it means to be human in the spaces between tragedy and beauty, loss and life, in the relationships between the lyric speaker, history, and personal memory.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUniversity of Akron Press
    Release dateApr 22, 2019
    ISBN9781629221076
    Hawk Parable

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      Book preview

      Hawk Parable - Tyler Mills

      Hawk Parable

      First Thing

      You look like a monster, one woman said to another.

      The woman was on fire. This is the first of two

      screws twisted into a wall. One bus is sent

      on its route minutes before the other. This

      is the first. Thousands of soldiers were lowering

      their faces to the grass, as though an exercise

      can will an effect. People made their way

      to the hospital: a doctor would look at them,

      and then they could die. You can dip a line

      of monofilament into a river. You can do

      it twice. The first becomes a second. The second becomes

      a third. Three girls stretched out their arms while the wind

      sheared their flesh. Sheared, not seared, what was left.

      I could have shown you a swimming pool lit with turquoise light.

      It was early. It was a mission. It wasn’t the first.

      The Sun Rising, Pacific Theatre

      Here we have another moment of blue-sky thinking,

      when no one loves you in the morning.

      The tinderbox as empty as a train at 5 a.m.

      It is 5 a.m.: a tin knife and fork packed in your pants,

      you yank the sheets up where your neck

      placed an envelope of nerves.

      Acrid sky over us, streaked with the tar

      blur of gasoline: the sky knows the machines

      are being fed—that is blue-sky thinking,

      when no one loves you less. I want to touch the raw

      cloth of your coat sleeve while you put your body

      inside it: it’s like I’m the voice from the beginning

      of an opera that speaks from the ceiling

      gilded with octagonal tiles to say, there are exits

      on all sides. But you are moving like a wheel

      riding over a rope, and your lover

      is your hand, lacing up boots through their rusted portals.

      The sky reminds me of nothing, the way it feels

      staring into white curls of light combed through stones.

      What I thought was a tinderbox is actually

      a box of bullets. What you thought was the sun is the sun.

      Negative Peeled from a Cardboard Album

      For a moment,

      soldiers

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