THIS ISN’T ABOUT WHETHER

           you live in limbo, in lifetimes
trapeze-swinging from limbs of Poplars
and all those lids half-shut— 
expired mustard & jams
in your cupboard [for years] what
I count: steps closer than your steps
—further from me. i wait frozen in
the odd light of your kitchen, collecting

countdowns from your microwave
goodbyes, the sweet slap of us
touching down, granite           or
the tidal chance of overlap. just tell me
either way you want me          or don’t

            say you love me, my hunt
under tables touching. i can
unsink ships, each hinge of my jaw
opening over you [dead] there was
every line I never crossed—even

in the static-cling of your blue fleece,
the new-moon subterfuge, shiny-eyed— 
I kept you        and those swollen fantasies
tucked-in like eyeless clouds [numbered]
between my legs—a stretch of sky
we would never get to.

            until the drive home, where
I become Next Day, cue of your bones spread
against me: recitation in rearview I know
now I should’ve kissed you [off-canvas]

                       whether you’d let me
                       or not.

 





Whether she is romancing Italian foods for her writing day job, grading papers for her English Composition class or compressing her guts into poetry, Meghan Tutolo is probably busy. In her downtime, she can be found doodling universes on paper placemats or painting skylines. Some of her poems can be found in Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, The Pittsburgh Post Gazette, and The Oklahoma Review.