by Jonathan B Aibel
Between not here nor there,
shouldering my brief,
packed with my spleen
and a kidney looking for a home
any home, stuffed body to body,
an overheated train, faces
staring into our own penetralia.
Emptied, my courage, mother
clouds, my silent songs, tucked
away from light, swaying
at the mercy of the tracks.
I only need someone to see
my scars or, barring that,
someone handy with a knife.
Jonathan B. Aibel is a recovering software engineer who lives in Concord, MA, traditional homelands of the Nipmuc. His poems have been published, or will soon appear, in Chautauqua, Pangyrus, Lily Poetry Review, Cider Press Review, and elsewhere. http://www.jbaibelpoet.com.
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