Poetry by Michelle Glans
Everything worth remembering:
the cat sleeps
in a spot of sunlight
her body coiled
like the shell I found and left
just yesterday
although not new to the sea
I had hoped
it to be a nice home
for a small crab or a pocketful
of sand
***
Spent the mourning splitting
open a pomegranate
over the sink,
fingernails reddened and tart I spit
sucked seeds into a bin,
unsure how it works,
this fruit
its lotus design
or how night
escapes me now
***
Today: a pink tinged bedroom,
an ice pack
to the chest
***
The scent
of firewood burns
through an open window
as snow falls in soap-mounds,
almost-rain
and you,
almost-here. I fear
my winters have ended
Michelle Glans is a poet and engineer from Miami, now residing in Chicago. Her work has been featured in Louisville Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, SWWIM Every Day, Morning Star, and elsewhere. Instagram: @oheyitsmichelle
Arcturus 