by Kelly Schirmann
my letter to you was a mouth
& I want it propped open
I imagine you under
the planet I am under
so we have something to discuss
where your lovers went
when they discovered their aliveness still intact
is none of my business
I am under oath
to not sound so strange
when I feel strange
I put on black & start to whisper
when I speak
I am watching the sky
so it sounds like crying
I can’t seem to focus
without essential oils
or my hand on your aura
once during a bad winter
I indexed cloud formations
until everything once more resembled
a great tattoo
I proclaimed this booth of ours
a winter booth
& you, mine
I felt for your knee in the booth
& looked for something significant
feathers are found in the street
with startling regularity
& this helps me immensely
god said turn around
but it was a cruel joke
good one, god, I said
but the sun didn’t set
when the moon came around
I confused it with our planet
& felt burned
when I couldn’t help being in love with you
I walked down a long road
with a stick of dynamite
I wore a cheap dress
I imagined you complimenting
we can talk about the sun
now, I said
but nothing happened
just ghosts of me
loving my body
& not knowing anything else