Cellar Below Heaven

Elizabeth Metzger

I can hold a grudge against a bird.

The word “done” in your mouth
becomes my mouth.

I dog-ear my days toward you,

pulling a javelin out of a see-through star.
I watch you and all the suicides

file out of the night
and toward me

asking how I know it is a star
given its clarity.

Back to top ↑

Sign up for Our Email Newsletter