Jonathan and David
your smell
lingers
on the sheets we chose
together,
your shirt
dangles
from its hook,
abandoned.
I wrap myself in
blankets that, warm
from the dryer,
neutralize
tender
memories.
I curl
into our loveseat,
reject
my side
of our bed,
as the rain
descends
beyond
our window,
renewing
flowers
I’ve neglected.
I wish you’d
return—nurse the dying
bulbs back to life.
I can become her
I apply the Ponds cold cream,
and make sure each pore is filled,
so my face reflects the 80-watt
lights bordering the mirror.
This is the blank slate, the marble
before the impact of the chisel.
From this state, I can go
anywhere, be anyone.
With the proper highlights and shadows,
I can age and deteriorate in minutes
or alter the pointed nose of my ancestors.
I can become her. Viola
Yes, if I became her, somebody would notice
me in the hallway between classes,
ask me out, or invite me to their parties.
If I were Viola, guys would fight over me.
So I dip my smallest brush in the brown
crème, create her cheekbones, round
out my angular jawline.
Make everything soft.
I pat blush onto the apples of cheeks, stain
lips a color like bloody strawberries.
When I look up at the reflection,
she returns my gaze.
She smiles, reaches for a towel and wipes
the makeup from half of my face.
Aaron Michael Kline received his BA in Theatre and English from Stephen F. Austin State University in Texas. He is currently enrolled in the MFA Poetry Program at Rutgers-Newark, where he is the Truman Capote Fellow in Poetry Writing and cohost/co-coordinator of the Student Reading Series.
Beautiful.
interesting.
in the second poem, though, I think you mean voilà (french for “there it is”), not viola (the musical instrument). Cheers.
actually, I just read it again, and, voilà, I realized that Viola is a proper noun name of a female person. So sorry. :-)
The first poem is lovely, sad, and utterly lonely. The second is gripping… especially that last image. It felt eerie.
I agree, Sarah. The face half made up is haunting and speaks to the crisis of identity I imagine a lot of LGBT people feel. The more I read these poems, the more I love the imagery, the subtlety.
Beautiful & lingering.