f r o m    M O T H E R   M A Y   I

 

 

have

 

something like another chance, not that

 

visions, avocados

 

my body, yellowed

 

bruise, the future

 

dark and pitted with rooms

 

wisdom

 

I crawl on my belly toward

 

the park it's early May

 

in my helmet, the battle

 

personal

 

an image like a live person in my mind

 

without skin

 

diffusion

 

I misunderstand the body

 

the way it takes punches, don't make me tell you again

 

I heard a woman singing

 

spit it out I said, the actual sun

 

will explode all over us one day

 

and burn up the memory of my hair

 

a wagon blooming with bones, I don't

 

feel good, remember

 

we met and

 

you laughed

 


*** 


 

have

 

some seriously incurable illness

 

of the mind maybe, but preferably

 

of another person's mind

 

which I imagine

 

as a rock caked with moss

 

the rock a lightning storm

 

burned hair

 

the smell of it, of course

 

is the smell of insanity

 

I had once the audacity to worry

 

that light

 

glowing feverish

 

within my skull's moon


________________________________________


MRB Chelko is Assistant Editor of the unbound journal Tuesday; An Art project. Her poems have appeared in AGNI Online; Forklift, Ohio; Indiana Review and other journals.  The World after Czeslaw Milosz (Dream Horse Press, 2012) and What to Tell the Sleeping Babies (sunnyoutside, 2010) are her chapbooks. She lives with her husband, Nick, daughter, Noni, and dog, Chuck. in Harlem.