TWELVE YEARS LATER
I can imagine the baby pooling away from me
like smoke, imagine doctors soft as birds
beating their wings, murmuring, guiding the dark plume
into a bucket. Into a bag. Then afterwards, smoothing
a sheet over me. No, a veil. If there’s such thing as a soul,
two flickered in me for years. Then one.
IN WHICH YOUR WEDDING RING HUMS FROM THE KITCHEN TABLE LIKE STATIC
The conversation gets smaller
the word unplug comes
to describe what to do
with our affair. I agree and it is
as if agreeing never to pray
or sneeze again. My friends wonder
if one day I will learn to be angry but
I don’t want to learn.
Tonight your wedding ring hums
from the kitchen table like static,
and I put my shoes back on in reply,
to slip out into the green-black rain.
Take your shoes off, you say.
SOPHIE KLAHR is the author of the chapbook ______Versus Recovery (Pilot Books), and the poetry editor of Gigantic Sequins. Her poetry, essays, and reviews have appeared in publications such as Ploughshares, The Rumpus, The Normal School, Gulf Coast, and Sycamore Review, among others. She teaches poetry in the Creative Writing department at Houston’s High School for Performing Arts.