Yesterday by Mitchell Untch

after you’d gone

our bodies

uncoupled in the dark

I lay in bed

and started to think of things

that are halved

apples pears

seeds

and the knives that separate them

I thought of doors

half open half closed

their wide

unexpected swings

into the middle of rooms

how they halve distances

I thought of windows

invisible seams

that separate interiors

from exteriors

from where you are

and where you are going

half journeyed

and half way there

I thought of your mouth

in the same breath

the other half of the world

half a shell lying on the beach

its smooth abandoned

chambers

filled half way with sound

half of me listening

half of me not

 


 

I am an emerging writer and have been published in The Los Angeles Review, White Pelican Review, Third Wednesday and was recently chosen as one of six ALOUD Newer Poets, an annual award held at the Los Angeles Public Library and sponsored by the Los Angeles Book Festival, The Mark Taper Forum and the James Irvine Foundation.