from M O T H E R M A Y I
have
something like a mystery to solve, not that
a floppy straw hat
to organize the light, it falls all over me like this isn't New York
you wouldn't understand, how darkly my sunglasses sit
on the ground arms folded
this concrete is sand
no parking sign a love letter
right? scrawled
in lipstick in blood
let's romanticize everything
glare like you want me
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.