8.02 / February 2013

Two Poems

I Want To Tell You Yes

I want to eat your sparrow, come
here. I want to lick your sparrow claws come
here. I want to cut your sorrows out
you’re hollowed out. Come here.
I want to suck your fingers off.
Come here.
I want to give you your history back.
Your fingers back. I want to tell you yes.
Come back. I want to show you my pressure,
my heavy, my opened and clothes, my under
and o’s. Come here. I want to finger
your bones back. I want to sew your bones back
I want to re-blood your history.
I want to undo you like a mystery
novel. Is this the kitchen? The table-saw?
Is this your memory? Your tree-dream? You’re declawed.
I want to give you your teeth back. Your teeth marks.
I want to spit back your teeth-pull. I want to unhinge your heart-jaws.
Come here. I want to sit you down on the bed and give you back
my years. Here. I breathed your name into the leaves.
Here. I breathed you back into the trees. Here. This is your tree-dream
this is your tree-house, this is a bedroom, this is a silver broom
this is a shallow dream. This is my tree-dirt, my bee shirt.
This is my honey-stalk and these are your climbing shoes.
Harmonica me to sleep again. Put your sparrow on my back skin.

If Morning Never Comes

When you’re not here I try to fuck
the sky backwards: with my mouth.
I want everything to call me night.

Last night I cut you out
to hear you siren. Wanted the dishes
to turn into broken.

If you weren’t so blue, I said, I’d hollow
your worries out.

The bath rages like a coward.
If you were here I’d wash your laundry
in my sink, I’d tell you to go home and then
to not go home.

Kallie Falandays is an MFA candidate at Wichita State University. Her work has appeared in Paper Darts, and ILK.
8.02 / February 2013