Your body gives you

away to the air,

the plumbing, the dust

of the house. A few lost hairs

cobweb a corner. You exhale

the fumes of the engine

which churns out movement

and thought, fueled only

by its own burning. Me too.

I would like to remake you:

I can darn or cobble

all you’ve lost since last

you mended yourself. I’ll fill

the day’s erasures

with blackberries and fennel—

food our tongues agree on—

so tonight’s changes

(we can’t change changing)

will change us closer,

liking our seedling likeness.

If you like Camille’s poetry, be sure to check back every Wednesday for new poems from local poets!  Also, take a look at our recent piece on the rising women poets of New Orleans! 

Camille Guillot lives and cooks in the Riverbend area.  She has also been published in the Allegheny Review, Adroit, and Greenblotter!