BY MICHAEL SCHMELTZER
Peristalsis/Bildungsroman
The way the worm
ripples forward.
The way a boy and girl,
disgusted by the movement,
follow. The writhing
that occurs in them
when the girl
pinches the head
between her thumb.
When she cuts the worm to pieces.
Segment by segment
they become strange,
think in repulsion
and perform on desire.
What bits are left
they throw to the lawn.
One piece they neglect
delivers itself
like a parcel to their door, a box
they won’t remember opening.
Between One Light and the Next, a Shudder
The way twilight leaps
headfirst in front of the train
terrifies me
with its insistence.
Let’s leave. The dark
makes me desperate.
Let’s greet night
by the river instead
where the water warbles
like a chorus overheard.
Sing me a song of dry
so I won’t be tempted to jump.
~
I wish I could meet you
in the very same spot
under a very different light.
I wish language
could describe language
better, but it’s like rubbing
ice cubes together
hoping for heat.
All the trains from childhood
glistened with rain, whistled
a lone note
and always at night. The night
a barefoot woman
angled toward the tracks
was the same night you kissed me
so I awoke to a world
spinning, the earth a single coin
only one half lucky.
As a boy I placed a penny
on the length of a rail,
and the train transformed it
to something worthless.
To the child I no longer am
it held immense value
even as I, delighted,
mangled its shape.
Michael Schmeltzer is the author of "Elegy/Elk River," winner of the Floating Bridge Press Chapbook Award. He earned an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop. His work can be found at PANK, Rattle, Meridian, and Mid-American Review, among other places. He tweets ridiculous things at @mschmeltzer01.