Sunday, December 04, 2011

MRB Chelko


The airless blue
to wake alive

place no thought no finger on

that miracle

to get one

and discover work

the snow melts
reveals it's been collecting

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.