poems by rachel kellum
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break
dust on windows
gives light a place
to land
and cedar shadow
clear demarcation
we are not outside
we are in
he notices trees
browning
wonders drought
she is paying for
a two beer break
from herself
heavier, days
there are possibly
too many books
too many words
in the world
too many stages
she is dirt on glass
filter
there must be something
light, a man said
funny
to entertain
the wealthy
white
crowd between bouts
of sorrow
a break from the world
they make
the women say
bow out
with thanks to Barbara and Hillary, Terry and Dorell
after therapy
in the close quarters
of dream
Granny came to me
uncharacteristically
hugged me
her dumpling body ancient
enveloping
mine pressed into hers
like a thumb
in pie dough
her nose that familiar dollop
in generations of faces
and right behind her
warm release
my father
her son
having waited his turn
pulls me close
to press an awkward
fatherkiss
against the corner
of my mouth
hold me in his dark
discomfort I welcome
like an apology
like a late
thank you
I wake to
inbox poems
three in a row
on the dead visiting
when they
when we
are ready
The Imaginary Man in My Head
that pale, cool editor
wouldn’t let me write about sweetness.
He called it Hallmark shit.
So I kept it to myself,
lived it with my children,
unashamed to watch the minutes
go by wordless, illiterate
and toothless as a babe.
The problem—there is no record of love
but for what was written
in my children’s cells and mine.
I can only hope the hard stories
I chose to tell the man do not overwrite
the truth of our lived love,
the endless hours we wrote
upon each other.
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
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
when we forget to net
robins strip the tree’s
cherries in two days, no jam
no pie, no crumble
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'
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