Issue 19






Mark Lamoureux





I wrote “Quinnipiack” from research materials concerning the history of the Quinnipiack tribe in New Haven, CT where I now reside.  The poem contains sections from Some helps for the Indians, shewing them how to improve their natural reason, to know the true God, and the true Christian religion by Abraham Pierson (1658), which contains some of the only extant examples of the now-extinct Quinnipiack language, and The Quinnipiack Indians and Their Reservation, Charles Hervey Townshend (1900).  Needless to say, it is impossible to copyedit or read the sections in Quinnipiack, though the English translations of the Quinnipiack passages also figure in the poem. 








War shirt of John Davenport’s

putrid bones, a flophouse

on the slave estate.  Bloody

bricks, seeing ghosts

all the time, vitreous floaters,

shadow people.

& upon extraordinary accidents, as Thunder, Earthquakes,

sights in the Aire, blasing Starrs &c.

Quah skeje εheεhége mónεharawanúnguotush ahárrêmuks’,

arra Páddaquåhhum Quequansh,

māzzenúnguottush késesuk terre, squárrug arráksak &c

which shewes that they know there is a power above the

creatures, though they see him not.

Widow’s walks regard the landfill,

poxy proxy of death-painted loam, toilets

in the public square.  Buses rumble

for the dispossessed.  Polis is this. Kill the river

Who will punish sinn & can do it when he will.

mukko matta naûwah, ouwun bitεh arroutaûtak matεherêwunk, quah om uttrên hantŭkkeque roytaks.

with a lancet, those elms that still rise

through the red disease, those

uncursed coursing through xylem,

the white blood,

milk of hospitals:

we see trees in winter loose thir beauty & in the spring live again.

nâumenan p’tuks pabŏuks antâumous werregowunk quah se quoks kejámous rambe.

John Davenport will fashion you

a golem

in the shape of yourself

 for warfare—

do battle

brick bone ghost boon

groans with the sea

at night the ghost boat of

merchants under the waves

swollen with loot & ocean

worms, Solomon born on

Moon’s day

sanctified for work

Mattamoy & naught


Hom énsketâmbough missinnawanan Jehōvah wuskwheâk matta youhbitch mammoânhokkréztawâuwunk quah pânassoùngansh wutche Sachemānauk, quah motántámmewunk Eansketambough?


If Indians receive Gods Word will it not take away the honour & Riches of the Sachems, & Liberty of the Indians?

Tīw’s day




his mark


& the English planters before mentioned

accepting & graunting according to ye tenor of the prmises,

doe further of their owne accord, by way of free & thankefull retribution,


give unto ye sachem, counsel & company

of ye Quinopiocke Indians,

twelve hatchets,

twelve hoes,

two dozen of knives,

twelve porengers

& fourse cases of French knives & sizers; All which being thankfully accepted by ye aforesd & ye agreements in all points perfected; for rettification & full conformation of the same, the Sachem his counsel & sister, to these prsents have sett their hands or markes ye day & year above written.

Woden’s day

wed to

a cross of ash

& spit

He about four years since

came into Mr. Craynes

House when they were blessing God in the name of Jesus Christ,

& that he then did blashpheamously

say that Jesus Christ was

‘Mattamoy & naught’ & his bones rotten

& spake of an Indian in Mantoises plantation ascending into Heaven wch was witnessed by Mr. Crayne & others.

Fat cops regard,

night a pistolwhipped begonia

in the dust

must be what could come in Black Mary

square, just dust dyed

young in the pink muscle

By the natural motions & expectations that Indians have of living in another country to the southward after they have lived in this:

Spe rambâuwe róytammenûngansh quak askwhóntámmewúngansh, yow Eánsketmboûgh uttâhhénau wutεhe pómpamantàmmewunk perôukon saûanaíôuk pokkaεhe pómantammowûshànnak yowh terre:


Thor’s day

thunder & lightning

sick in the bones

of water

in the river

running backward

into the mouth

of a highway, smeared with rust & dirty diapers, slicked with gasoline, ghast

of John Davenport

scrabbling at the defunct

pay-phone’s ripped

throat dangling—a choked

dead cormorant

black with petroleum

& whale blood.

The Quinnipiacks, at the date of the Eaton treaty,

had been reduced to forty-six fighting men,

& including squaws & papooses

numbering in the neighborhood

of about one hundred & fifty persons

youh kåkkoodumεhàmo neh nejek wauhtânnau mouεhe milkissoowunk ausin keizbittushànnuk, mukko matta naûwah, ouwun bitεh arroutaûtak matεherêwunk, quah om uttrên hantŭkkeque roytaks.

In the bare cinema

rah rah

Fred Astaire in spats

a boss plane

coughing fire

go go go

in the nave

a naval battle.

Freyja’s day


unlucky fuck

castrated by Davenport’s

brass tack

knuckle ball

cardiac kneesocks

choking those chopsticks

of varicose spaghetti

The centence of the Court was that he should be severely whipped for thus scorning at or worshipping God & blaspheme the name of Jesus Christ & he was informed if he should do so hereafter it would hazard his life.


The book locks,

wrought iron teeth

of the cathedral library

festooned with closed circuit

television orifices



crime scene logistics

in the quad

the first class

shot up the townies

with their pistols


marigold line

on Temple Street

skulls & bones

mace & chain

let them eat

each other

Saturn’s day


greasy electrum,

the death of you,



& naught

satyr’s day

out among the

pulchritude, loose lips

sink yachts, tight

in the pub, buries

an IED






Sun’s day

& for the damage by means of the gate he had left open to pay Tho. Knowles five shillings.

in the park


like the teats of mammon



Buried under strata

of arrowheads & peeled

scalps tongues shrieking

this is your fault, under the trees

wide as six humans, weeping

sores, penumbra of humus hiding

cursed eyes, Davenport shackles

oxidized to shivs to pierce the soft skin

of the bare foot, pull on your boots

militiamen, the bitter dirt whelms &

the rats are here & this is the end of

the city of elms










Mark Lamoureux lives in New Haven, CT.  He is the author of thee full-length collections of poetry: Spectre (Black Radish Books ,2010), Astrometry Orgonon (BlazeVOX Books, 2008), and 29 Cheeseburgers / 39 Years (Pressed Wafer, 2013).  His work has been published in print and online in Cannibal, Denver Quarterly, Jacket, Fourteen Hills and many others.  In 2014 he received the 2nd annual Ping Pong Poetry award, selected by David Shapiro, for his poem “Summerhenge/Winterhenge.” 



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