poems by rachel kellum
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synchronicity, our dragon telepathy
in dark retreat you
witness lotus dragon bloom
gaze into your eyes
darting back and forth
pink ribbon rippling through space
she swallows sadness
crosses miles, alights
on my ball cap brim, says hi
a huge dragon fly
(or maybe, reverse:
I see the Darner, say hi
and she delivers)
for Dorell Drake, my husband—whose name is marvelously rooted in the Latin “draco,” for dragon.
Let’s have some more fun with etymology… and entomology: The dragonfly who landed on my brim was a Variable Darner, or Aeshna interrupta. Aeshna originates in Sanskrit and means “desire or wish” and interrupta is Latin for “interrupted.” Interrupted Desire, what a perfect description of being apart from one’s beloved. Aeshna interrupta: what a perfect messenger to connect us.
Commandeered Idioms
On the other side of the fence
Is a sidewalk through wildness
Coyote keggers
Owls in cloacal kiss
Don’t count your chickens
Read them poems about pluck
Thank them for golden cores
Pray over yours
Eat an omelet
Actions speak
Brasher than tears
Soft as regret
Faster than fear
Out of sight
Outside of time
Out of one’s name and mind
In dark retreat
Every cloud has
Nine pails of rain
No shame
A journey to complete
An alien to hide
Laughter is
The best heartfuck
The enemy of pride
Beauty is in
The bent hands of my man
The heat of his neck
Our skin side by side
All that glitters
Requires light
Or inner sight
Sometimes a fight
Don’t cry over
Spilled hope
Spoiled broth
Soiled hat
Don’t let the cat
Ruin your dawn
Meowing to wake you
Make you
Step in vomit
The grass is always greener
After you water it
with thanks to Wendy Videlock for the workshop
Early Water Refugee Turns 24 and Lucky
The summer he surpassed my annual salary in three months
Catching salmon off the coast of Alaska as a deck hand and skiffer
My youngest, turning 24, didn’t want money or whatever
Just for his mother and stepfather to spend his birthday present—
The customary hundred-and-eight cash transfer—and be happy together.
Get dressed up, he said, go to a nice restaurant, get well fed.
So we did—sipped Fernet at the Vic, ate too much fish, and after
Walked along the river he loves, who, like him, hails from Leadville—
Aunt Arkansas, my sister, who taught him how to raft and laugh
Regale tourists with tall tales and half-truths, a star
In his eye, on his tooth, all while scouting the safest yet daring line.
We sat under Tenderfoot a few minutes to watch her flow
At the lowest of lows without him, early water refugee,
So I could write this and watch two boys place a lizard on a boulder
Near the river and save it when it ran into the current.
Net Fishing
You are no longer teetering over the abyss.
Instead, you are fishing it, laughing skiffer
holding a net between the large boat
of the body who birthed you and yourself
behind the wheel, parallel to shore, to her,
moving slowly, rejoicing in every netted fish
packed with perfect pink flesh, pulsing,
salty with electricity, with nutritious death,
that sliver of missed bone we must swallow
chased by bread when we can’t cough it up.
Wedding When We Are Old
Instead of wincing at withering
I offer my shifting beauty
to one deep and wide enough
to hold, to love me old.
May I trust his seaward vow.
May we outlove each other.
Selling Poetry
I spend the money
I earned selling my poetry book,
my performance, my writing prompts.
I pump poems into my gas tank,
buy a friend a pint of poem,
feed poems to my lover for brunch,
pour cream into my poem
and honey, and sip.
after the online auction, where they were not offered
my mother’s favorites
of my high school
and college
artwork
are rotting
in a land fill
in central Illinois
beating me to it
Thinning Beets on Summer Solstice
It is right to pluck
small sprouts you planted by seed
when fear over-sowed.
See how seedlings crowd
hoard space, soil, light, and water
stunt one another.
It is not failure
not a waste to thin the rows.
Give roots room to grow.
Not one life is lost.
Stuff the sprouts, right then, into
your animal mouth.
Tender abundance!
Feed them to Love, your coven.
Throw what’s left to birds.