by Elena Tomorowitz
The mountains are breathing
but are too far away to hear them –
it will be your body
that falls, listening anyway,
ear to the ground,
and as I lean my mouth
to your ear, whether in pleasure
or sadness, to tell you
what
or what was,
in a voice barely audible,
you sink farther into the marsh
like a footprint with the foot still stuck.
In our next life, you’ve become the land
and I am what uses the land to hold me up.
Elena Tomorowitz received an MFA from Cleveland State University’s and a PhD from The University of Southern Mississippi. Her poems have appeared in Guernica, Fugue, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Blue Earth Review, among others. She currently lives in Boise. Click here to visit her website.