THE FIRST APARTMENT
The water near boiling
rattles in the kettle.
This third cup of tea
just for warmth
does not calm the knuckles,
soothe the knees,
unstiffen the back.
I am an old, old fetus,
curled when I sleep and
curled when I walk, pulling
through nostrils
marinated cold,
muttering memories
of hot air banging
through pipes,
walls venerable
in age, buildings
that do not lean
with the earth, leaving
orifices
for the breathing night.
The oven turned on
smells like last night’s fish.
I choke
hot fat odor
and decide
I could well build a fire
in the kitchen,
throwing
as my first morsel to it
the landlord’s front door.
Bio:
Carrie Vaccaro Nelkin’s poetry has appeared in Blue Unicorn, Crow& Cross Keys,Ephemeral Elegies, Third Wednesday, Field Guide Poetry Magazine, Connecticut River Review, and elsewhere. Her short stories have been published in Supernatural Tales, Crow & Cross Keys, Luna Station Quarterly, and other places. She has authored a horror novel, Snare, released by Permuted Press, and is a member of the Horror Writers Association.
