f r o m    M O T H E R   M A Y   I





something like another chance, not that


visions, avocados


my body, yellowed


bruise, the future


dark and pitted with rooms




I crawl on my belly toward


the park it's early May


in my helmet, the battle




an image like a live person in my mind


without skin




I misunderstand the body


the way it takes punches, don't make me tell you again


I heard a woman singing


spit it out I said, the actual sun


will explode all over us one day


and burn up the memory of my hair


a wagon blooming with bones, I don't


feel good, remember


we met and


you laughed






some seriously incurable illness


of the mind maybe, but preferably


of another person's mind


which I imagine


as a rock caked with moss


the rock a lightning storm


burned hair


the smell of it, of course


is the smell of insanity


I had once the audacity to worry


that light


glowing feverish


within my skull's moon


MRB Chelko is Assistant Editor of the unbound journal Tuesday; An Art project. Her poems have appeared in AGNI Online; Forklift, Ohio; Indiana Review and other journals.  The World after Czeslaw Milosz (Dream Horse Press, 2012) and What to Tell the Sleeping Babies (sunnyoutside, 2010) are her chapbooks. She lives with her husband, Nick, daughter, Noni, and dog, Chuck. in Harlem.