from THE MARCH
The airless blue
to wake alive
again
place no thought no finger on
that miracle
life
ha
to get one
and discover work
music
the snow melts
reveals it's been collecting
bones
death I tear from my dog's throat
the way we want to eat each other up
the way we lick our swollen lips
our chapped lips
I'm alive
I tell my shirt because I want to take it off
when I talk about love I mean
am I the only one
this will need to be revised
I will need to be forgiven
and locked inside for some time
to wake alive
to sit at the table
stare at an open kitchen drawer
and think
never close
MRB Chelko is Assistant Editor of the unbound journal, Tuesday; An Art Project. She has poems in current or forthcoming issues of Indiana Review, POOL, Washington Square, Forklift, Ohio and Verse Daily among many others. Her second chapbook, The World after Czeslaw Milosz, is forthcoming from Dream Horse Press.