by E.B. Schnepp
let me draw a curtain across this, the bedroom.
nothing is happening there,
but all the creatures with eyes are turned
to face the wall with the books, their human-faced covers.
Regardless, there’s no pleasure here, but
something private is happening all the same. In this cool
and this dark. The bible pages are bristling,
stacked outside the door, they have ears too and are listening
with Leviticus for cloth on cloth, for skin. If you asked
for a candle-lit something I’d turn you down. I’m not even interested
in shadows, in seeing misplaced shadows in the mirror. But,
you can’t ask me anyway dead man,
everyone knows eyes and tongues, soft tissue, are the first to go
and some days that’s the only reason I let you stay.
::
E.B. Schnepp is a poet currently residing in Chicago. Their work has been featured in Poetry Daily and can be found in Nat. Brute, Iron Horse Review, and South Dakota Review, among others. Their debut collection, Spoon for a Sparrow, a Wolf, a Girl is due out with Gasher Press in Spring 2025.
Image: zero take
ID: black and white photo of window curtains.
Psaltery & Lyre 