MRB Chelko

I'm reading about black holes, but right now

the book is about how human beings can't

sense much actually—if we could

we would wake up each morning

and see the universe

expand, receding, it would seem,

from this very spot. It's relative:

every point in space

plays center. A poet wrote once, outside

the youth center, between the liquor store

and the police station, a little

dogwood tree is losing its mind. I love those

lines. But, today there is no

tree. No white petals

cascading obscenely down. How is it I believed

the insanity of one small plant could save this

city? What's out there. Blackness. I

can see.

MRB Chelko is Assistant Editor of the unbound journal, Tuesday; An Art Project. She has poems in current or forthcoming issues of AGNI Online, Indiana Review, Washington Square, Forklift, Ohio and Verse Daily among others. Her second chapbook, The World after Czeslaw Milosz, is forthcoming from Dream Horse Press."from Mahattations" is her second poem on

  fiction    poetry    "fact"    photography
masthead      guidelines