I, COLEOPTERIST


I name thousands of them in conciliatory form
keep crawling where the joins are sulky bare.
Rolled up blankets and trying shook out clothes—
name them, ever-moving tentacles like hair.

This kind of thing might be accustomed—
being invited but also whole body warned.
We built a perimeter of well-packed refuse.
Love is like a stupid plaster formed.

Hadn’t made a gift several shades of wing—
listened with my eyes how I was made—
I stupid with love. Are willing to pedal
days across a mirrored surface sharing shade.

I have gone sailing some little land.
I can count fidelity on half a hand.

 

 

Bonnie Jean Michalski received her M.F.A. from the University of Arizona in 2006.  She currently works as an editor at the University of Arizona Poetry Center in Tucson.  She co-runs a small press called MacawMacaw Press that publishes poetry in the form of hand-made books.  Her chapbook, My Glass Terrace The Hinterland, is being published as part of the 2008 Dusie Kollectiv.  "I, Coleopterist" is part of that manuscript.