Brood
My chest is earth
I meant to write my chest is warm
but earth will do
to exhume a heart
Beat
I meant to write
breathe
Did you know I was alive the whole time
I was alive in the ground but torpor
But torpor
Slowed beat
My chest filled like a jar with dirt
I mean
dearth
For slow months at rest in the hole
I’d made in myself
A frozen ground
A ground in thaw
I mean
Spring is coming
I mean
I push the wet dirt with my mandible
I mean jaw
Jaw
Y’all
I know I am not a nymph in exhumation
but would you please explain
this half-remembered light
Originally published in Sewanee Review, Fall 2017. Copyright © 2017 by Donika Kelly. Used with the permission of the poet.