He feels rhythm in washing machines

Danielle Walczak

My flannel sheet never felt

thicker

than when you said you didn’t

want it between us.

[But let’s rewind].

 

Your first word was moon and

that was all I ever needed to know about you.

Starting an off-kilter metronome of sorts

rhythm is not in you but around

you find it in the quietest places

bringing it inside.

 

It’s February now and

Orion buckles us together

packed under blankets of snow.

 

Delicata dreams we’ll eat hash in the

morning.

Butter my toast

take a walk with me.

 

Now, the sun is out but setting

smoke stacks — heat illuminated by

clear cold

light, from buildings, from our mouths

from I.V.s, I am warmer with

you inside me.

“Let’s listen to that track again,”

maple syrup slow [snow]

you tell me appliances

play in B flat.

I am warmer with you inside me.

 

I am not leaving tomorrow but soon.

 

In a shadowy kitchen, near a constellation poster

I am burning, not allergic

sipping tea with both hands next to you.

 

I am not leaving tomorrow but soon.

Constellations move, more so do we.

So buckle us a notch closer

we can stick warm stones in our pockets,

carve DNA into the mountains

So they,

We can’t forget how to sing.