[MODERN DANCERS]
by Matthew Sharos
We are part
of an ocean
in a field.
The ocean drags
her toward
a tree to kiss.
Tightening weeds
strip me
to muscle
and cover
my limbs in bark.
Is this love?
Or do legs
lift without
say-so?
[ ]
I am lost
in a studio
apartment.
She sings
my name.
Matthew
Matthew
We forget
how to walk
& sprout
quills.
Our wings batter
glass & join
balloons
in wrinkles
of explosions.
[ ]
She pulls
my chin
like a rose—
her right leg
extended
matching
the horizon.
I am confusing
her online
dance videos
with our
relationship.
I’d use her name,
but she’s a writer
where I’m a writer.
Naomi
Naomi
Look what I did.
[ ]
Turning
trees
into
seas
birds
into
bloons
there’s
just
no
room
to
hold
us.
[ ]
An optic nerve
spirals down
my spine
to my toes,
it latches on
a Converse eyelet
& the metal
ring registers
as an eye
but diverts power
away from
the brain.
I tilt the shoe
around a
rotted shed
to process
stains of
blue paint.
A gardener
is buried
nearby.
Matthew Sharos is an MFA candidate at Columbia College Chicago. His work is forthcoming in Columbia Poetry Review.
