Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-eight
Summer 2015
Richard Helmling

we’re bleeding all the heat
through the window panes
you can feel it,
feel the leeching from your fingertips when you touch them to the glass
half-obsidian now that the moon’s down
I think of the pastiche of crystal shards
in the stained glass you made
(when you were pregnant for the first time)
you’d take the freeway to the ed building on campus
come home with wire hummingbirds with plates of red and green for breast and wing
don’t know where you got the idea
how you signed up
took the class
just to

like the cooking lessons in the long, brown hall at the community college
(enrichment annex, I think they call it)
you’d come home with little tarts and pastries
that you wouldn’t take credit for
saying it was really all the instructor

now sleep
your arm bent back and your chin up
house creaking around you
and the little ones

I’ll watch the heat escape
in little eddies of breath against the glass
and worry over entropies
and the balance of nows and thens
because someday
the little weavings
of all our arts and crafts
must fray

About Richard Helmling

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