4 Psaltery & Lyre: Aaron Michael Kline, Two Poems

Jonathan and David

your smell
lingers
on the sheets we chose
together,

your shirt
dangles
from its hook,
abandoned.

I wrap myself in
blankets that, warm
from the dryer,
neutralize

tender
memories.
I curl

into our loveseat,
reject
my side
of our bed,

as the rain
descends
beyond
our window,
renewing
flowers

I’ve neglected.
I wish you’d
return-nurse the dying
bulbs back to life.

;

;

I can become her

I apply the Ponds cold cream,
and make sure each pore is filled,
so my face reflects the 80-watt
lights bordering the mirror.

This is the blank slate, the marble
before the impact of the chisel.
From this state, I can go
anywhere, be anyone.

With the proper highlights and shadows,
I can age and deteriorate in minutes
or alter the pointed nose of my ancestors.
I can become her. Viola

Yes, if I became her, somebody would notice
me in the hallway between classes,
ask me out, or invite me to their parties.
If I were Viola, guys would fight over me.

So I dip my smallest brush in the brown
crème, create her cheekbones, round
out my angular jawline.
Make everything soft.

I pat blush onto the apples of cheeks, stain
lips a color like bloody strawberries.
When I look up at the reflection,
she returns my gaze.

She smiles, reaches for a towel and wipes
the makeup from half of my face.

;

Aaron Michael Kline received his BA in Theatre and English from Stephen F. Austin State University in Texas. He is currently enrolled in the MFA Poetry Program at Rutgers-Newark, where he is the Truman Capote Fellow in Poetry Writing and cohost/co-coordinator of the Student Reading Series.