LILLIAN SICKLER

mammals

the graveyard we rolled
in was the first field
of light

the second,

the bridge or the plate
of scrambled eggs

4
fronds         of     wheat

sitting in
the glow. your car
parked on tugalo lake

what I         mean is /
your georgia
peach
held against
the skin
of my forearm

when it rains outside

&
no one
hears it, faint
outline
of a strawberry.
slow is slow soft is softer

I wrote my death
down in the pizza
shop with tangerine
sodas & a round
mirror

held this     dream
on your couch
30
feet
from
your headboard

washed my hands again
in muddy bathwater

your house
ghost

carries me
across
the threshold

29 whales followed
solar flares found s
-and beneath their
bellies for the first
time for the last ti
-me. soft is softer

fortnight

1.
     regard the morning
     where you leave, lake-side
                                                 the same towel

     tick of a time bomb
     that never explodes

2.
     tall height of summer
     you show me a peach-shaped patch
                                                   of sky

     through the curl of
     an unclenched fist

3.
     nothing heavier
     in our universe except
                      maybe

     one push,     my heart breaks
     the sky,         pulls pink out

4.
     grow slow crescent moon
     boat,         beautiful moon slower
                                         for us

     sticky legs, green feet
     drifting through anne’s lace

5.
     your lovers are smeared
     all over the dashboard of
                       your car

     as we talk around
     them, guilt hangs like grapes

6.
     tugging screws out of
     the rotting fence, a humming 
                               bird nest

     for your hair,         we can
              retrieve the missed beats

7.
     falling asleep in
     air that wants to be cloud, more
                                              ocean

     my body learns how
     to mimic the rain

8.
     roll down the surface
     trembling and crooning against
                                  your skin

     summer secret,         kiss
                                          me,     we break the drought

9.
                        rhode island breakfast
               peanut butter on rye bread
      one window,                 two chairs

10.
     we sail a green leaf
     forgo the anchor, two weeks
                                   to wilt

     lovers this lovely,
     this is senescence

11.
     in the eyelids of
     some pear tree, bees dive and steal
                                                    salty

     meat off our plates
     we do not ripen

12.
     this is senescence
     I know I know I know,     yes
                                          we die

     I do not know why
     I do not know how

13.
     the heart is where I
     leave us,     calling like a fall
                                                   -ing peach

     it won’t explode,     it
                                     has separated

14.
            hugging my bare knees
     fog of my driveway at dusk
                                           plucked one mum for me

Lillian Sickler is a recent graduate from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst with a degree in Comparative Literature. She has studied with Martin Espada, Aracelis Girmay, and Marilyn Chin. Writing poetry since the age of twelve, her poems have been published by numerous literary journals including Cosmonauts Avenue, Asterism, Vagabond City Poetry, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, and Words Dance Poetry. She is currently working on her first book of poems.