Engraved Grain of Rice
I used
to want
more
than walking,
more than
singing, more
than writing. Our
walls are yellow, our
fingernails are
gold, our stomachs
are full, and our
rug is a faux
tiger coat. Coaxing
you out from under
the couch takes
much of the
day. I walked
down a street thinking
awful things
about myself. What’s
most important is
the ability to give
me peace of
mind. Feel bad
for everyone but
especially him. Pull
a sweet, golden gem from
your pocket and know
there are more of
those back at home in
your pantry. I have
a hard time not
loving you. Why not
tumble down
a dusty hill, why not
wear a baseball hat
with a rhinestone dolphin
on the front, why not offer
a pest a home? Getting ahead,
coming out on top, shooting
the shit, I want it all.
Clammy Hands
Jacqueline held my
hand and rubbed
my fingers against
the inside of a
saucepan.
This
here, she said,
this oil is what
you left in
here. Never have I
figured out the
right way
to determine
certainty. How clean
is clean enough
to not get sick?
-
Marlo Koch is a Chicago-based writer currently serving as the Managing Editor of Chicago Artists Writers (CAW) as well as the Book Donation Coordinator at Open Books. Koch holds an MFA from the University of Illinois at Chicago. Her poems have appeared in Peach Mag, Sobotka Literary Magazine, Hole Black Hole Catalog, Funny Looking Dog Quarterly, among others, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize.