poems by rachel kellum

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

the myth of blue blood

from the base of a remote mountain

named for the blood of Christ

in bed, over bagels, chicken soup, stir fry

we stare into our palms

watch protests on screens

city streets pumping people, songs, signs

like starved blood toward the heart

of a country no one can find

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

Hufflepuff Home for the Holiday

My youngest

now a man

spread out

on the basement

couch

with two giants

marbled dogs

Eo and Fang

a fragrant heap

of ten-legged sleep

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

when we forget to net

robins strip the tree’s

cherries in two days, no jam

no pie, no crumble

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

Knock, Knock

Knocking to enter

Woodpeckers know something

I don’t about my house

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

How to Handle a Narcissist from Space

Respond to his self-serving praise with a thumbs up.

Say nothing.

Twiddle your thumbs.

Fiddle with the floating mic with your friends:

Stand it up, lay it down, watch it drift, spin it like a drill.

Clap and laugh like kids at these antics while he waits.

Use comm delay to your innocent advantage.

Let him sit in silence a full minute.

Pretend to wonder if you lost contact.

Ask if ground is still on the line.

I am, yes, I am, says the narcissist.

Listen to the crowd laugh on your beautiful planet.

Do not apologize.

See 8:30-10:00 of Trump calls Artemis II astronauts after historic moon flyby: 'We'll plant our flag again'

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

Christina Hammock Koch, Mission Specialist, Artemis II

Her bare face framed

in a floating halo

of untamed hair

she adjusts her socks

plays with and parts

a shoulder curl, nods

and smiles, like I do

patient, while men talk

about stars, turning

toward black space

lights out, to see them

not twinkling (she shakes

her head, mouths no)

just perfect pinpricks

of light, he says.

Someone, please

pass her the mic.

See Do You Still See Stars In Outer Space? Kid Asks Astronauts Aboard Artemis II

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

with Yeats

What if every two thousand and odd years something happens in the world to make one sacred, the other secular; one wise, the other foolish; one fair, the other foul; one divine, the other devilish? What if there is an arithmetic or geometry that can exactly measure the slope of the balance, the dip of the scale, and so date the coming of that something? W.B Yeats, A Vision

It didn’t take long for the magpies to come back.

They are not falcons. I call them in with seedy fat.

We live on the widening gyre of justice now,

just outside the narrowing corkscrew tongue of raw power

shrinking like an old god’s cock after 2,000 years,

his self-made cage rattled with raging whimpered tears.

see W. B. Yeats and the Cycles of History for a discussion of the gyre of his famous poem, “The Second Coming.”

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

nausea

you rise like a flood

no floor in me is higher

one now, we let go

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

dancing while he cooks

two beers

and our wedding

playlist

remind me

of the way hips

butter time

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2026 Rachel Kellum 2026 Rachel Kellum

The Beauty Years

In the years of my beauty

like you, I was too thin

waking with shaking arms

sugar starved blood.

A milk jug was too much

for my hand

aching with the effort

of doorknobs, keys, pens.

Early arthritis, I guessed

remembering my mother’s

bent knuckles. It wasn’t.

I was simply starved

but for the gaze of men

trained to like us thin

and weak as little girls.

What a gift are my fifties—

this body filling in, juicy

sweet as a newly wrinkled plum

becoming pink wine

softening my husband’s belly

sip by sip, drunk on me

drunk on him.

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