New World

Cami Park



What plant, her noticed light last leaves. We catalog the lime-bright generations: water, work. Car. You, a Swedish mechanic. Who will drive wild to banging storms, eat chartreuse radio dreams, cross a million little rains: mint, spring, ice, green— a lifetime back and to.

Calculations: love, wind, tax. Everything. Me and my envelope of looks; me with the furnace shades. Unfixable. You can't color the night forest with worried hands. Not you. I'm full rough ivy; a beautiful morning door. Greet me.





"New World" was published here at Abjective on December 5, 2009. We lost Cami this week. "New World" is republished this week in remembrance.

More of her work can be found at Quick Fiction, Smokelong Quarterly, No Tell Motel, Hobart, elimae, and Forklift, Ohio. Mungo is her blog.