Told Me

“January”, “The Only” and “Told Me”

In Poetry Issue Five by Chelsey van der Munnik

January

January

I.

I think a dog would
make me feel less
alone when I’m alone.

am I saying it completely
correct, am I complaining?

it starts with one move
I need to make, but
I don’t feel comfortable
saying I know what that is.

we feel the same, we speak
of it similarly when we’re
being honest.

II.

I’m getting my wisdom teeth
pulled and it will be okay
because everyone says so
and I am not different.

I have nothing I
can unabashedly,
without shame,
enjoy to enjoy.

I have forgotten how
to dress myself and this isn’t
so important but I think of it
and wish it were easier.

I would love to move somewhere else.

III.

I’m not a mother
the way I want to be
I don’t know how to be.

as much as I want out,
having it as an option
in front of me
made me want to cry.

make sure I write about
how every day feels the same.

I think I caught the
scent of summer on the
stairs of my apartment
it nearly killed me.


The Only

small, so small it’s someones everything, it is the supreme.
it is the shock – wasn’t this bigger? didn’t other people know
about this before? and now it’s a plant in the office, a nerve
on the top of the foot, a blotch on the skin that can take a
life away. a permanent, bolted down memory box in the
attic, the only thing you would try to take in case of a fire,
fingers gripping for it to be inside. intestines move over in a
square shape to take on the pregnancy of the absolutely small-
est of things. the only reason I want me. the only everything mine.


Told Me

the wind told me not to taste so good
so the crickets won’t come.

the sun told me not to look so sick
don’t say you have no one.

the bug whispered you’re not what I’m after.
& bird told me it’s willing to fight every day.

the train beyond told me its okay to scream.
& cloud told me to take a deep breath

*

the wind carried me deep into the oil of the ground.
& I traced my fingers over who I had always been.

a puff of air on a neck, a bone in flight,
a wavelength in the distance.

crawling, frightened of the starving,
moving on the crests of electricity.

to be here right now – sweet & pale.
to swat away that bug – a piece of my soul.

About the Author

Chelsey van der Munnik

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Chelsey is a content writer and SEO Analyst for a marketing company in upstate NY. Her work has been published in ZPlatt Literary Magazine, Crack The Spine, BROAD!, Poetry Super Highway, and Right Hand Pointing. Her chapbook, Balloon Animal, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.