POETRY: Five Poems By Kathleen Nelo

Thank you so much to Dirty Press UK for featuring my work this week!

DIRTY PRESS

Breno

Breno,

The heat of my skin
makes the black ink
run in terror
of my thinking of
you
in such a way that we are children
again.

Summer hurts me,
winter riots
against me.
The brown spots on my
skin,
the same number of
nose freckles you
had
at thirteen.
Before time made you take
yourself.

I wrote a page,
emotions stinging
my lungs,
Stopping and coughing
in systematic repulsion
of my own heart
and summer influenza.

Your mother calls,
you cradling the
phone
to your shoulder,
staring at me
then
screaming with your eyes,

β€˜Not one page,
don’t
ever stop at one page.’

Breno,
maybe it was you who
stopped at one
page.

Maybe it was
you
who had a vision
a dream,
a fight
you wanted so badly.

Breno,
I only have one mental photograph of
you,
the yellow boxcar,
your mother wailing,
the pulled lumps of…

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