“Philip Levine, my Lover” by C.M. Soto was published in the Meadville, Pennsylvania, Allegheny Review. It was reprinted in Soto’s anthology, These are the Rooms to my Mother’s House.

Philip Levine, my Lover

Aside from your chicken-scratch toenails,
toilet seat up—
curse you for the carpet burns
and the “bitch” notes on the refrigerator.

You crack me up
in your quiet.

Please shut up,
and I will bring you
a nickel for your 2 cents,
an aspirin for your wisdom teeth,
onion-skin to wipe your ass with.

Quiet,
and the crumbs on the corner of your mouth
could be pleasing to me.
I wouldn’t have the itch to
break you,
your eggshell sound of cracking knuckles.

You talk tacky of my abortion,
broken record of bitterness—
bitter and frail as the
peanut butter and cough syrup kisses
that stale the roof of my mouth.

Your eyes are cool gods,
cool as your lips in the market;
gray hair, a wool blanket
that needles my neck;
crooked fingers that circle
the peach fuzz of my navel.

Walk softly, my love,
not on your heels
to the room where you spilled baby oil.
I’ll catch you, precious,
between my thumb and forefinger,
praise the moisture you leave on my pillow,
and you’ll grind your teeth soft,
as you stumble to sleep.

 

#cmsotostory