Love Poem for Obliquity

Let the phone ring—ignore
the dishes in the sink, the dust
swept underneath the rug—

because here are your legs
wrapped around my legs,
here is the curtain of white light

that fills your collarbones, washes
your face like a stone. Your body
against my body on this specific

planet, in this exact rotation
of its axial tilt, is an impossible
equation—stunning in its waning,

fragile like the bird I found
so lovingly unfolded by the ants
on the porch, until just the bones

were left, the bones and my voice
asking Where, asking stupidly,
as if there could be any answer:

Where, where did you come from?

Kate Levin received her MFA from Hunter College in New York City. Her poems have been featured in Suspect Press and University of Northern Colorado’s publication The Crucible. She is the first-place finalist of the 2016 Rosenberry Writer Awards in poetry and the winner of the Rosenberry Prize for her poem, “When Mourning Comes.” She is the author of her self-published poetry chapbook, Letters to the Wind.

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