poems by rachel kellum
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Final Grief
The edgeless hole
you left in my childhood
chest awaits.
I beg life. I beg you.
Let me lower
your body into that grave.
Let me shovel dirt
over every lost and never-made
memory of you.
Let me tuck you into earth
with my story,
hide you like a bone.
I’ll lean on my shovel and sob.
Roll out a rectangle of sod.
Lie over you like a dog.
I’ll sit up. Stand like sky.
Walk back into my life,
your living tombstone.
This Kind of Night
Live among people who revel in quiet.
Let night be fully night.
Exit the dim house with Leo on leash.
House lights homely earth stars—
Sky has swallowed the neighbors.
Leo pulls me into darkness with his nose.
Roads wait black and silent minutes.
The giant empty sound gets inside.
Let’s sit on the winter porch and listen
Past midnight, see if quiet minutes
Churn to hours.
Leo gets nervous. A pack
Of valley coyotes howl. Their yipping
Such a tonal range of clownishness.
Think their laughter human.
Listen close for people chiming in,
As I would like to. Join the coyote din.
A second mountain pack
Starts up its echo ruckus in duet.
House dogs cough a husky bark or two
Of distant memory, genetic mourning
For a tongue now lost to them.
Leo squeals a whimpered beg to walk,
Not stop to listen to the night.
From middle of the road, we shuffle
To the shoulder, then a neighbor’s dark drive
When headlights beam their distant crawl
Toward us, throwing light through stands
Of piñon pine like flashlights cutting up
A wild colonnade. And our six legs. Like prey,
Long shadows scramble mad for cover.
Once the car has passed, its path a thinning hiss
Of asphalt kissing wheels, I hold my breath,
Look up at Taurus, almost disappear.
No wonder now—that cosmic gleam
In longtime locals’ eyes. This kind of night,
Given time, will have its way with everyone.
Make us not quite right for well-lit city life. There,
In debt, I shred my heart to pass through nets.
Swim in schools for coins and loans. Self-turncoat.
Jealous, uncomfortable, I’ve feigned fun shrugging off
The Crestone gaze, a bit too wild and bright
To live for bills alone. It dawns, this place
Will night my face, star my eyes. By then I doubt
I’ll even care if colleagues look surprised.
Walking the Green Belt
Piñon desert paths remember
All our feet until the wind.
Post office bound, his dog ahead sniffing the way,
I swear I see my son’s size ten Converse tread
Of yesterday, homeward bound from school,
Slightly off the choppy sea of dog paws
And mule deer hooves, the scattered
Patterns of factory made soles in sand.
Imagining his solitary walk, I grin: his cheeks
Rosy with winter, blue eyes scanning
For prickly pear, then, the sudden upward glance
At sky, his left foot stepping just there.