I call you but you are out in the yard
where dragonflies flit and mate in midair
and ants patrol the peonies,
where you overturn shovels full of earth,
bury bitterness in a scarf
like one you draped over the violin
when you tucked it in its case.
I call for you and from your sickbed
a response quieter than the hum
of streetlamps. A puzzle, an answer
arrive in headlights curling
around a shadowed bend in our road.
I call out for you
and you are there for me
until you are not.
There are more rooms in our house than I knew.
Each door opens to another room,
another door; cupboards of implements,
summer garments from another time
hanging in a closet with a window,
drawers with files of records
and little mysteries—- a whistle, cufflinks and studs,
a long letter that urges reason and rhyme.
“One place for this, another for something else,”
I think aloud, moving through them
all in dimming light.
I called to you at dusk and again this morning
and you were next to me, the fragrance
of your chest, the smooth
skin of your limbs.
I called out a warning, a prophecy
and it was a claim cordoned off
and conveyed, an alias
of ill-fitting clothes.
David P. Kozinski received the 2018 Established Professional Poetry Fellowship from the Delaware Division of the Arts. His first full-length book of poems, Tripping Over Memorial Day was published by Kelsay Books in 2017. He received the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize, which included publication of his chapbook, Loopholes (Broadkill Press). Kozinski was named 2018 Mentor of the Year by Expressive Path, a non-profit that encourages youth participation in the arts. He serves on the Boards of the Manayunk-Roxborough Art Center and the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference.