Ariel Yelen
| TWO POEMS

AT RACE POINT

Did I make you move here?
The new word for anxiety is rose
Because poetic rose, I
Practiced new words for it
While looking at a painting, not
Of a rose but of a beach.
An abstract beach full of hot.
Rose makes me move.
Rose made you move here, I
Shivered today, from
A dream you were in—
You, me, and Rose.
We smeared one another
Into the sand,
And we were granular then
And finally.

EVERYTHING IS HOVERING AROUND A CENTER AND TODAY I GOT TOO CLOSE

A man in the tiny
triangular park put on
and took off three
layers of pants, each
with their own belt,
repeatedly. Birds
huddled in the fog
by the water, then left
each other for reasons
of their own. Fog
can make a city feel on
the brink. Too small.
Joan said she keeps the
drawing she made of
South Dakota to
remember all that
space. Eating a salad
while looking at a
leafy tree, while
thinking of herbivores
eating leafy greens
while looking at leafy
trees was a way to pass
through the
suddenness of the
afternoon. When I
slammed the car door,
a stranger said
easy tiger. In my
apartment the light
was trying to settle.
A note to myself says
that you are in this
city. A note to myself
says I write poems.
Did I write it in pencil
so I could erase it?