A first step in a strange dance
I jitter open the window, air mixing in a surge,
some of the song I hummed yesterday thinning
by the birds, thrumming like loose guitar strings,
and then this is death, the exhale, the bleed,
an insult, like I didn’t know.
But it is kind, that I will
mingle with the grass below
one day. That after
all by breathing I will grow.
So I do not close the window in disgust
So I leave it open.
Arlyn LaBelle is a queer poet and writer living in Austin, Texas. Their work has appeared in the Badgerdog summer anthologies as well as North of Oxford, The Oddville Press, Songs of Eretz, Grey Sparrow Press, Cease, Cows, Panoply Zine and The Southern Poetry Review. Their premiere book of poetry, Measurable Terms, is available through The Main Street Rag. You can find more of them and their work at www.arlynlabelle.com