Verdad Magazine Volume 11
Fall 2011, Volume 11
Poetry by Anton Frost
Unfolding
a bell is bottomless.
it goes on and on.
i don't know. i look at your legs
and think about drowning. it's not about what
i want to do, it's what
i feel is being done.
i am watching your fingers.
your body
is a whole.
the shattered atmosphere
exists. flagrant hips,
the sense of smell.
it moves under
fragments of light.
i unfold, watching an unfolding.
there is pain in drowning
but
you have told me
your secret.
holding on
to almost
nothing
is
everything.
thank you.
i could kiss you.
i could breathe
again.
it aches
not to.
Countryside
the center of the universe
is far away
and my heart
is a countryside of roots.
the moon is a bread-crumb
as the sky
turns to nothing.
i can hear the drumming
of water falling
onto rock,
i hear something
like a pulse
in the open cupboard.
my head
is a closed space.
it is an
occupied shell.
remembering
is like
watching a woman
from a distance
walking both toward me
and away from me.
it occurs
it is hard
to remember.
between days
and only sometimes
we remember we
have
more than
just memories.
my cupboards are empty
shells, repeating
the pulse of my ears.
my heart
is a diorama
of a universe
that is all center.
it is your silhouette;
it is me trying to decide
if you're walking toward me
or away from me.