by Matthew Gellman


My body detaches from the mirror,
nothing new etched on this wall.

I rise: the open window
plays middle C. You know

I’ve shined darker.
How will clouds lip-stain June,

sky fasten its dress
to tauter skin? Mornings,

mornings, I saw you
over the guardrail.








Matthew Gellman‘s poems are featured in Thrush, Lambda Literary, DIALOGIST, Word Riot, Two Peach, H.O.W. Journal and other publications. He is the recipient of an Academy of American Poets prize and a scholarship from the New York State Summer Writer’s Institute. Currently, he lives in New York and is an MFA candidate at Columbia University.


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