Lent

Cainine | Spring 2024

you asked for a poem.

how
to put you into words?
trick question– can’t really. but

you asked for a poem, so i’m
sighing into my alphabet soup,
stirring, slouching, stumped,
looking for your poem in the
little
noodle
letters.

...looking for your poem in the blinds i closed to keep
the morning light from your eyes
in the three, two days;
in the one night we shared
in the bra you left behind
in the cavity of my bed
the smell of your hair
your dreamy touch
and how it fades when
waking.

nobody likes lukewarm soup.
here’s a better idea:

maybe your poem is hiding in my body and
maybe you can help me look. how about
the roof of my mouth? between my kidneys?
i’ve got a lot of uncharted skin, and this
pesky poem could be anywhere, so

let’s get started as soon as possible.
let’s never stop looking. no stone
unturned— the holy grail of your
poem is a pressing concern, and

when you pull your poem out
of me, it might sound
like a song.