Suddenly I Love You

by Chad Foret
We sit on a bench with no back in the rain.
A wedding party compliments the rabbit
muffalettas. The centerpiece is melting.
They aren’t just down there, the dead.
Because a scar is the color of infatuation,
I climb the kitchen table every morning, demand
to be defaced. When your fingers disappear
into my hair, our hearts become a mutilated horse.
A single, rusted nail is holding
everything together. The weather’s
sideways, the landscape a stereogram.
A boat filled only with robes rocks close.
A naked fingertip extends
to cancel all our bones. I kiss
my life—her ears are cold.
All the birds are out of breath

 


Chad Foret is a PhD candidate in Poetry, teacher, and editor of arete at the University of Southern Mississippi. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Double Dealer, The Journal, Nashville Review, and elsewhere
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