Jill Mceldowney

Sleep on the Floor

             —the first night we sleep

together I forget how to sleep.
                                    I don’t understand your body yet, as if I ever will.
Our sky does not have to be the sky

that dissolves, fills with crows stirred to flight
                        by the smash of champagne even though
I would break

              the good dishes with you,      my good wrist for you.

The sky goes no where. We could have
                                                anything we wanted, we could reach out,
we could take it:
at daymoon, at bankruptcy, at jars of yellow pears,
                        at robbery, at red wine, at scarf covering my mouth—

what would it be like               if we taught each other to be gentle?

            I think I could be happy with that simple ending

of home, goodnight,                arms around you, every emptiness
             a colorless bright.

If all we know of love is
                                    sleep on the floor,

in the glass, glass for our teeth—
            borrow water, borrow wineglasses—

we build a house.

We live in it.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Jill Mceldowney is the author of the chapbook Airs Above Ground (Finishing Line Press), as well as Kisses Over Babylon (dancing girl press). She is an editor and cofounder of Madhouse Press. She is also a recent National Poetry Series Finalist. Her previously published work can be found in journals such as Muzzle, Fugue, Vinyl, the Sonora Review, Prairie Schooner and other notable publications.