"Unsolved" by Michelle McElroy
Made distance by Samuel Ugbechie
The clanging resistance of a spoon, bent
like the shredding goodbye of a hundred sheets.
The kitchen, sweaty with the bathing smell
of the river’s edge, ocher like blood pressed
against the earth. The afternoon, though, is taut
with the marshy surrender of water cuddling
summer sands. There are empty dishes, bald
like the polished stanzas the sun casts
against metal. There’s smoke without a thing
to grill, there are doors without handles to give,
there are louvers now wrinkled, pale and opaque.
So where’s silence when you want its moistened
leaves scratching against your skin? Where’s
the perch of ice on the tongue as the surge
of heat wafts swiftly from one wind trip to another?
The sun, today, creeps out with a blot
of singeing and a hum of singing in its mouth.
And I head for the dip of a mattress bound
to vomit me. I wait at a door forever ajar, forever
adjacent to scar and scattering. Love is a strained
tendon, moving slowly. The bicycle sequence
of my thighs pulls me farther and farther
away from you. The wind itself is like passion,
picking dust as it blows. When noontime begins
to groan and grow into dusk, when darkness
unwraps its long, bony iciness, when all its spotted
edges blur and dim, where between calm
and country would your arms be? What drop
of the rain would splash your shadows into light?
The kitchen is palm-warm empty, is fist-sharp
thick, is tongue-wet cuddly. And I miss you
like a loop of screams undulating into echoes,
crashing into nothingness. Your breath is where?
There. Everywhere, but here. And there’s
the wrapper flicker of branches, sprinkling
their little rain. Like the measure of you I have now.
Little. Sprinkled. The flicker of light dimming
into the night.
like the shredding goodbye of a hundred sheets.
The kitchen, sweaty with the bathing smell
of the river’s edge, ocher like blood pressed
against the earth. The afternoon, though, is taut
with the marshy surrender of water cuddling
summer sands. There are empty dishes, bald
like the polished stanzas the sun casts
against metal. There’s smoke without a thing
to grill, there are doors without handles to give,
there are louvers now wrinkled, pale and opaque.
So where’s silence when you want its moistened
leaves scratching against your skin? Where’s
the perch of ice on the tongue as the surge
of heat wafts swiftly from one wind trip to another?
The sun, today, creeps out with a blot
of singeing and a hum of singing in its mouth.
And I head for the dip of a mattress bound
to vomit me. I wait at a door forever ajar, forever
adjacent to scar and scattering. Love is a strained
tendon, moving slowly. The bicycle sequence
of my thighs pulls me farther and farther
away from you. The wind itself is like passion,
picking dust as it blows. When noontime begins
to groan and grow into dusk, when darkness
unwraps its long, bony iciness, when all its spotted
edges blur and dim, where between calm
and country would your arms be? What drop
of the rain would splash your shadows into light?
The kitchen is palm-warm empty, is fist-sharp
thick, is tongue-wet cuddly. And I miss you
like a loop of screams undulating into echoes,
crashing into nothingness. Your breath is where?
There. Everywhere, but here. And there’s
the wrapper flicker of branches, sprinkling
their little rain. Like the measure of you I have now.
Little. Sprinkled. The flicker of light dimming
into the night.
Samuel Ugbechie has works published or forthcoming in Ruminate Magazine, Palette Poetry, Nottingham Review, and elsewhere. His poetry collection, Monologue of Fire, won the Many Voices Project Prize from the New Rivers Press. It will be published in book form in fall 2021. He’s the winner of the 2020 Aurora Poetry Winter Contest, the 2016 Frederick Holland Poetry Collection. His works have been recognized in awards like the Vice-Chancellor’s International Poetry Prize, the Into the Void Poetry Prize, and others. He tweets @sugbechie.
Michelle McElroy is a native New Englander who studied painting at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and has worked at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston, Skinner Auction House and Historic New England. Interested by how light and shadow can transform everyday scenes are constant inspiration. These are images that she may see on early morning runs, midnight snacks in the kitchen or simple observations of everyday scenes that people can connect with or create a narrative of their own. Michelle’s work has been accepted into various juried shows in galleries around the United States and actively shows at local venues, such as libraries and cafes. She is a member of the Cambridge Art Association, Edward Hopper House, and Center for the Arts in New London, New Hampshire. Michelle lives in New Hampshire with her husband and two cats. Instagram: @michellemcelroyart Website: michellemcelroy.com
