WE NAME THE TOTEMS WITH EVERY MORNING
by Kelli Allen
We say, If I dive deep into the ocean
and find a camel, everything I know
will cease to matter. This is how sleep
comes. We listen and turn dancer
tight into a curl against the bricks
resisting the bed’s nightly push closer.
Let’s pretend that the stories bind
our bodies. Promise that we never
expected familiarity, that when we like it
dirty, there is an opening waiting
to receive what we give to the maw.
We won’t stay in our boxer shorts
even in the summer, not when someone
throws a shadow and reminds us nice
touch, when we begin to sing all the names
our histories remember, all the words
that make us comfortable on the side of this road.
Gyroscope Review - page 35
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