abecedarian with sexual tension
are you running to someplace that
beckons you? in the wild yonder, where I
crackle, the lungs of me blooming silver in the
dimness, riverbed gone out. should we meet then at
evening? under coxcomb and swollen,
filled with asking for each other, asking whether
goodness can be taught, whether this is right. and
how do you heal yourself, my dear?
I remember what you are—scab, totem,
juniper on the side of this house. do you make me
kind? would you like to reach between my doors—
lurid as a milksnake? I break every promise
made once to myself, in the darkening, dark
now, and my blackberries are burnt. I put fire
on the table, the rosewood made soft and
pinkish. I long to be among your
quiet plants, your neck unclothed, your wrist and
rhubarb, the red thorny vine coiling,
smoked in you—a heat that pulls, dragging anyone
toward it, toward being raptured,
unmade by your finger tips, undone my ribs,
vertebrae—scraped, used like a
whetstone. it is scary, to live like this, under the
x-ray machines, everything visible in my
young chest—a threshold. enter me between a
zillion bright rooms, all at once hushing.
Originally published at Noble / Gas Qtrly
she wakes rise and shine
in the queen’s anne lace
girl in lingerie and choke-cherries
girl silky for touches in the meadow
her antlers budding velvet
no four-chambered heart
just an heirloom tomato.
girl with a bellyache—thorn stuck
above her pubic bone
she didn’t go down easy
girl with a pretty mouth hole—she ought to run now
from the bad thing lurking run into the bark moss
milkweed and screech
she best be on her way
hurry up now, sweetie
pack up your money, your hard bread
the meadow rustling, awake
girl with a home to get home to
before the day’s dark girl with a head start
tomato heart aflutter.
Originally published at Rust + Moth
alone with you in a phone call, on this fallen planet,
broken meadow I make aglow like bruise—a loud
contusion. when it comes to you & I—embracing, magnetic,
almost in danger—I cannot even, cannot think. like an
evergreen in the middle of anywhere, the trunk axed, I always
flinch at you. my scabs leak & become brittle. between us—a
glitch, error message, a sugar. I think you are so honey,
honeycrisp as the apples in my cheeks, skin I try to make more
illumined, radiant for the party. do you like this cocktail dress?
jacquard, rhinestone, ruched—one that I could wear for the occasion,
kissing you under the bower. I would like to keep you sheltered, warmly
like a spore. don’t go away over the phone. I need support & service for
my feelings, need ravishing now more than ever, geraniums
now more than ever, something soft & redolent to
obsess you, to catch your heart over. I collect the green needles, the
pines are molting. I feel molten like a fragment of coal fire, so
quickly scattered there in the soil, the particulate brown & saturated.
remember the not-so-long ago—this wilted corset, this corsage
tight, once erotic to me. you live now only in the messages, digital—
until some future hour to make ours, thrashing together
wherever insects are abundant, two maws sucking out the
xylem vessels from the leaves, rucking our good clothing.
you have such a beautiful skull in there—I long to peel you back, un-
zipper these body glands, warm my hands in your liquid, dazzling.
Originally published at Grimoire
I use my phone as a mirror. I have zero likes. I like
mud-rose & jewelweed & you. you left my body cells
astonished. I am missing you something fierce in these
greenfields & oil fields & fields of scary love I do not like.
such a long way from this little while together. with you,
it is a presence or absence of claws—your hands that might
injure. desire holds me like a knife. what do you want me to
say to that? you say back. I research what larger animals are
most likely to kill me in the surrounding areas—most likely
horse or dog—& you think my hair is alive & it is. I get so
impossible with emotion, blighted, startled like a starling.
I order the latest version of a cave—tight, dripping—where
I can disappear into. I remember we enjoyed getting down
low in the bull thistle, downloading each other. you sent:
remember this? in your message request. the attachment
failed to load, inside the glow screen, silken.
Originally published at Grimoire
Emily Corwin is an MFA candidate in poetry at Indiana University-Bloomington and the former Poetry Editor for Indiana Review. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gigantic Sequins, Day One, Hobart, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, THRUSH, and elsewhere. She has two chapbooks, My Tall Handsome (Brain Mill Press) and darkling (Platypus Press) which were published in 2016. Her first full-length collection, tenderling is forthcoming in 2018 from Stalking Horse Press. You can follow her online at @exitlessblue.