Flights

You  call me  by one  of   your   daughterís   nicknames  and  sing to yourself  down  the  hall.   

This  is  a  way  of  saying,     There  is  no future.          Thereís   here.  Thereís       now   then.

Your touch  unlatches  me;           I  blame  it  on  the  moon,   on how little       Iíve  seen  you;                     

itís  a  handicap  to  be  so  porous.             A bee flies hard against the window then stunned,   

crawls along  the sill.  We  weep as  we  fuck and  fuck  Ďtil  weíre  laughing. There, there now. 

Only in the kitchen are there roaches.                                    They scatter in the light like water              

breaking as a stone enters.  

 



Deleted Scene 1 (Method Acting)

 

dumb tangle, gristle. 

      (take eight) 

our odor all flinch and chase, the camera a sound

   over us;      in this scene

 

one of us is chained,  a dog.  the other,

a child, pushing  food with a stick  towards the dog.

we stand in our hunger like a room, forgetting our lines. 

it has a purity;

 

each of us believes  we are the dog.

when I rehearse well, the words sink in,

       the character now whole

within me and ungovernable. 


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Sophie Klahrís recent and forthcoming poetry may be found in Ploughshares, The Rumpus, Chautauqua, The Rattling Wall and TYPO.  She currently lives in Houston, TX, where she teaches poetry at a high school for creative and performing arts. www.sophieklahr.com