Margaret Malochleb

Her Body, Transcribed

after Franz Kline, Leda, 1950

In the dark district of his arms, he gathers
her in. Chooses her, his souvenir, once again.
They become a frisson of one, a dialogue
of limbs without diction. The cool expanse
of his mouth refuses hesitation. Random facts
rise up to meet her until the world blurs
to a delicate shade of gray. She’s an origami
bird, a paper fragment looking for the chance
lift of wind. He’s a maelstrom of mirrors,
offering no safe place to stay. Now choice
has become for her the same game played
in a different syntax, a lapse of language
stuttering into erasure, each utterance
obliterated by the one that comes after.

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Margaret Malochleb is a poet, writer and editor based in Chicago. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Rattle, Painted Bride Quarterly, Rust & Moth and I-70 Review, among other journals.