The Poetry Project

CL Young


I keep checking the weather
like it might tell me something about myself

my head a series of storms
sending up the antennae each night

when I ask my mother if I’ve done a good job
she says she cannot get over my changing voice

smoke streams from all fires in my direction
my facts braid together and get chopped off

time forced into a shape
outside the body all at once


I liked how when I pretended to fuck you you realized
you’d be afraid to be pushed into like that

the residue of you
every day you leave me with

I created a reason to come here
that soon after my arrival was destroyed

now whenever I become aware of how easily I could leave
the world I want you always by my side

without speaking
we both seem to want a baby

flowers go in & out of trying to live
a poet dies & later in the week another poet dies

what future does that stare into
I make no decision then I make another one

the list of words I keep private
plays loud in my ear

Issue 18