“green” and “untitled” by Andrew Chmielowiec

“green” and “untitled” by Andrew Chmielowiec


i remember your laugh.

it rings in my ears

(less of a burning
& more of an itch
that i can’t reach)

& it is green,

like the grass
in our front-yard

& its stains
on our palms & knees;

we crawled on all fours,

searching for
snake holes to plug

with rocks & dirt clods,

one ear to the ground
for slithers &
tiny footsteps,

one ear to the wind,
for mother’s call,

with fingers crossed
that it never comes.



i trace the veins
behind my knees

(like cracks in the pavement,

little kids stomping
with reckless abandon
for their mother’s backs)

& watch you brush your hair
with your fingers,

one eye on the clock &
waiting for the right time
to make a wish:

of kissing the secrets
from the birthmarks

on your hips

& our hearts beating
in our fingertips;

of the hearing
the ocean

in each other’s ears.

andrew chmielowiec lives in seattle, washington, where he teaches elementary school and likes to ride his bike. he cannot play the piano, but he wishes very much that he could. his poems have been featured in a modest number of publications, most of which are now defunct, through no fault of his own. andrew’s first (and only) book of poetry is entitled “sir baden powel patrol award winners, 2003-04” and was published by displaced snail publications in 2012.

Category : Issue One June 2016 Tags : ,