Leveler Poetry Journal
About Leveler Submission Guidelines More Poems

Her Art

I picked the wrong hand.

The wooden nickel was under

her tongue. She slapped

my attention away and it

melted into

the sand. When the pain

subsided like a ship

on the horizon I collected

my clothes and my

self and tried my lips

again. She tasted

like winter

through a window.

Could anything solid

be that far away? I only

wanted to claim

the weight of water

behind her snow

and ocean. To pocket

the play of her pliƩ.

Or find a little air

to hold on to.

She never gave me the nickel.

The ship slipped into the scrim.

Alex Chambers