POETRY - ISSUE FIVE

Leaves Without Trace 

CHARLOTTE LIEBERMAN

* * *

I.

The narrow inlet simmers
in the light of late-

afternoon in August.
The wheel of that stationary

vehicle in the thinned-
forest nearby howls

as you undergo its image–

the structure itself 
never does move.

II.

Ester blooms in an old
bottle of vinegar

dwelling amidst yellow
cookbooks, rancid stacks

of papery flesh acrid as
the woven cords of wood

that make the counter-
tops give

that make a mattress of
yeast-water-

logged sinew,
flexing to make functional 

this surface stained 
by curried memory.

 [Untitled Genesis]

* * *

What of it makes
the light take on

the rhythm of 
dancing. A waltz

maybe. But it is only
porch-light. White.

White enough to see 
each other. Also 

mosquitoes. And 
the ribs of cracking 

wood beneath our
feet. The light is

as bright as my 
understanding is 

clouded, you sitting
and me wishing I 

were thinking something
else, or during what

ever it is you were
talking about.

An apple. Sweet and
watery. The right

color can make
summer feel cold,

I guess.

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Charlotte is a New York based writer who thinks and writes about feminism, relationships, communication, digital technology and wellness. And more.

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