(in the way of planetary motion)

Alexandra Kulik

The embryo hunts,
      peels back potatoes,
learns to tie a knot
      strong as womankind.

A wonderful blue piano
      connects homes,
         restless child to child.
 What a dream—
     the play of the moonlight scales.
Then the cracks spread and all fall down;
       growing up is hard to do.

His fingertips to her temples
       and thoughts crumple.
Love turns our solitary cities to dust.

The kettle grows accustomed
        whistling for two.
On the window, 
        breath of winter
        breath of hot milk
           curtaining sigh of rapturous bodies.
Truth has nothing to do
      but expend its lungs, then sleep.

The cock crows
            stars fall
cows chew dew grass
all morning long, and at noon
            Indians come to worship.
We roll in the field
and sometime     we emerge silver haired. 
Oh, what a life this is.

Have you meditated
          beyond the horizon?
              Ashes to ashes;
we are in danger
      of being forever



Alexandra Kulik lives in the northwest suburbs of Chicago with her dog, Sam. She’s been passionate about writing since the 3rd grade, when a teacher praised her hard work—an expository essay on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

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