#ryan bollenbach

from “dear indigo scissors,” by Ryan Bollenbach

         held his cracked body like he was my child licked my thumb and rubbed          a hunk of coffee grounds from his brow he felt me and said nothing i said i was jealous of light caressing his jawline          then i caressed his jawline i told him i loved him despite the sharpness          of deformity i warned him          that everyone someday          has of their body a weapon made i told him that i too was made          weapon when i was born          no escaping the confusion          of contribution          the conditional          suffering of others he heard me and said nothing          but i could tell he wanted to die i coached him through his steep spiral into suicidal ideation i gave him canned lines about flexibility          patient attendance          to the jags and curves of his edges          the universe expanding          cell's reaction to magnetism i laid these bits of hope at our feet so gently          my wood-tiled floor didn't creak the refrigerator was just loud enough that he couldn't hear          when not wanting to die          changed his entire body          like how metaphor          changes the order          of the brain's stone pathways          my body began to believe it too          so i laid down on the floor with him          in calm repose we both made duck lips          and took a polaroid          arm in arm for the camera i made a peace sign he held a modest smile until the flash faded          then climbed into the recycling bin          with a renewed sense of vigor at night i still get a happy feeling from him          somewhere out there          transformed          truly new          without me sometimes i wake in a sweat          to a hunger like          i can almost taste it i reach to my nightstand for our photo together          without turning the light on when i bring my hand back to my body          the skin on the tip of my finger is slit the other soda cans          dormant in my recycling bin          roused they sing          me to sleep

(Suggestions:  The part in Bollenbach’s poem that stopped me was the second to last line: “Their petals were rotating like breath”.  There are two reasons for this.  The first is that it is rare that a line in this poem does not contain a reference to a conversation taking place between “you” and “me”.  Almost every line contains a reference to one of these pronouns.  This means that this line is part of a conversation, is part of an event.  A conversation has a beginning and an end.  It will cease at one point. Now there are lines that do not contain “you” and “me” at the beginning.  These are abstractions.  The poem has yet to delve into its body and draw out its innards.  These abstractions are little more than fluff until further verse can deepen their otherwise hollow utterances.  The truly captivating part of this line is in how it resolves its attention.  From large abstractions to the back and forth of conversations to a sudden  - STOP.  The flowers petals are breathing.  A shudder went through me before I could continue with the verse, but there was only one line left anyway: “The bees just didn’t know what to do”.  This has the style of conversation, the phrasing (”just didn’t know what to do”) is colloquial.  It returns to the antiphonic form of the “you” and “me” discourse.  Haunting it though is the observation, one that doesn’t even seem to belong to the poem, of the petals of a flower breathing.

Ryan Bollenbach, “dear teal toothbrush,” published in Vector Press