This week, a poem by Jake Matkov.

 

SLOW BOIL OF WATER, REMINISCENCE

 

I know what invasion
feels—the gaze, gauze—

the exhaust of being
in Ben’s aftermath

Of being inside
a memory

I cannot remember
My parents in love

Just bees swarming my child
hood with language

Mother commands
Father understands

The shape of their buzz
is the gun waiting

While tiny horses eat away
my apple heart

Sister stitches a soft
browned worry to its core

Ben finds how blood
orange my primal urges

His single act of entrance, then
exit the way sunsets bruise the sky

I count the wingbeats
of bees as I gather

the terrible trash left
beneath the dark canopy

The imprint of Ben’s
body still lingering

My unmade bed
I inspect by the marzipan

glow of domestic intimacy
A picture of my parents

in love I think
I finally understand

——

JAKE MATKOV is the recipient of fellowships from New York Foundation of Arts (Poetry, 2017) and Queer/Art/Mentorship (Literary, 2015). He lives and works in Brooklyn where he co-curates the Broken Bells poetry reading series. Find him on Twitter @ooohjakie.



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