O how we itch but how we glisten! Look, the medics run warm tea tree hands through our hair andhere, the kids wear emergency blankets like capes. They jump and this whole bus silvers, torn seats singingwith superhero spells. Never mind that there is no room left in the medic yurt to treat our small bodiesin warmth. Never mind the stories of the state. I have said it again and again, please see this joyhere: the kids clutching emergency blankets like capes. Even as the whole bus shivers, our skin stingingwith wind snaked through half-cracked glass. Even as the balm on our scalps congeals and losesits warmth. Never mind the stories of the state. I have said it again and again, please see this joyfalling apart each day in our fingers. The decision is clear: ETP can’t brand the water with pipesthat snake like wind through half-cracked glass. Still, I know the balm on our scalps will congeal and loseto these bugs, fattened on the blood of the kids, who crack hand warmers so hard black dust bleeds out,falls apart in our fingers. ETP is clear: they’ll ignore the decision, brand the water with pipeslike they have the land beside the river. Oil eddies on our skin and I can’t find a way to believe anymorethey won’t fatten on the blood of the earth, crack it so hard black dust bleeds outlike a greedy spell, never mind how they state (The state says)there is no room anywhere for all our small bodies (they’ll send us away)especially beside the river.Oil eddies (insists this place isn’t safe)everywhere we feel our skin.I can’t find a way anymore to believe (for the kids)how we glistened. (but where have they left)Each night now, (untouched?)we feel cold hands in our hair.
Pantoum (Obstructed) with Army Corps Decision & Lice Treatment on Abandoned Bus
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“Pantoum (Obstructed) with Army Corps Decision & Lice Treatment on Abandoned Bus” from SOMETHING SMALL OF HOW TO SEE A RIVER: by Teresa Dzieglewicz.
Published by Tupelo Press on October 01, 2025.
Copyright © 2025 by Teresa Dzieglewicz.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Teresa Dzieglewicz is a Pushcart Prize-winning poet, educator, and lover of rivers and prairies. She is a fellow with Black Earth Institute, a Poet-in-Residence at the Chicago Poetry Center, and part of the founding team of Mni Wichoni Nakicizin Wounspe (Defenders of the Water School). With Natasha Mijares, she organizes “Watershed: Ways of Knowing the Chicago River.” Her first book of poetry, Something Small of How to See a River was selected by Tyehimba Jess for the Dorset Prize (Tupelo Press). Her first children’s book, Belonging, co-written with Kimimila Locke, is forthcoming from Chronicle Books. She has won a Pushcart Prize, Best New Poets, the Gingko Prize, the Auburn Witness Prize, and the Palette Poetry Prize and has received fellowships from the Elizabeth George Foundation, Community of Writers at Tahoe, Kimmel Harding Nelson Center, and Brooklyn Poets. Teresa lives with her family in Chicago, on Potawatomi land.
North Adams, Massachusetts
Winner 0f the Dorset Prize for Poetry
Through the weaving of documentary poetics, first-hand accounts, dialogue, and lyric, these poems tell the story of co-running a school at the Ocethi Sakowin Camp at Standing Rock.
“This is the most memorable debut I’ve read in years....This book braids many voices together in a ceremony of solidarity.”
—Craig Santos Perez
“Something Small of How to See a River sings in the dark....I was captivated by these poems that reminded me of ceremony, beauty, and the depth of human connection amidst the terror.”
—Tiana Clark
“In bracing, enlivening poems, Teresa Dzieglewicz makes her impressive debut as a poet of place and heart…I felt changed by this book.”
—Lynn Melnick
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