Bonus Cut Poetry: “untitled” By Abby Conklin

New-York-City-skyline

This is Bonus Cut Poetry, a series that features original poems by Bonus Cut staff, artists and YOU! In this series, our mission is to bring people together in poetry, share stories and display wonderful artistic pieces. If you would like to have your poems in the next Bonus Cut Poetry installment, just email us at bonuscut@gmail.com

This installment features Bonus Cut’s own Abby Conklin.

untitled
By: Abby Conklin

I like the piercing, 
it’s cute.

I’m falling in love
with a man I have spoken
with twice, who sounds
and looks,
like the immigrant that used
to grow up in this city.
A hundred and fifty years ago,
he would’ve been in the business
of family.  Of strong odors.
Of passed-down hatred.  Time
lost to the Man on the cutting
room floor.

How would you look
in coveralls, I want
to ask, within earshot
of sheets and eight hours’
hence breakfast dishes.
How does your Italian-
Irish-Jewish-Catholic-
American anger sound?
I see you in boxing
studios, hungry blood
running. Unable to get
a grip on where maelstrom
stops, and ring ropes begin.

I like the piercing,
it’s cute.

How many bruises,
bloody noses, counts
have you kept?  Good
shirts, ruined?  You’re not
my type.  He woke
up this morning in the room
next to mine.  Clocked in late
at work, one borough
up.  Overslept his alarm,
still an edge of drunk
in Brooklyn.  I don’t go
in for you; I don’t look
at a man and imagine him
on Ellis Island.  But I suppose
I did, once, almost fall
for a movement between
souls.  And you’re one
of those, I can feel it.
Wildness tamped
down the gun of knowing
this is futile.

I like the piercing,
it’s cute.

I like your spirit.
It stuns me.

 

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