Peter Burzynski: You Have Teeth, Too

Gemma Evans

Rice Petals

Here is the river,
here is the sun,
tell me you feel
me, love. I can tell

that I’m late
for sometime.
I guess that’s why
rats run.

You Have Teeth, Too

Sunsets are a moot point
in the schedule. They bear

the weight of tube-hearted
trombones and yet still falter

through puddles. Collections
of marred concrete, rubber

bones, cracker-thin placard—
you call them home.  You left.

You spat tin into our garden—
a brass furnace. Heard bluebirds

cracking. We’d sing broken
heartedness to the stars,

measure the consistency
of our bones. Skin is pricey.

You had filled our world:
every petunia a parabola,

each house key a colossus,
a scarf a sarcophagus, every

telephone a thunderstorm.
Now it’s empty—deflated

of the last blips, of memory,
dregs of sunlight, of our star. 

Editor's Note: This feature appeared on our old site.

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Peter Burzynski is a PhD student in Creative Writing-Poetry at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.  He holds a B.A. from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, a M.F.A. in Poetry from The New School University, and a M.A. in Polish Literature from Columbia University. In between his studies, he has worked as a Sous-Chef in New York City and Milwaukee. Peter’s poetry has appeared on The Best American Poetry, Kritya, and Bar None Group websites, as well as in the Fuck Poems Anthology. He has poems in BORT quarterly and the Great Lakes Review.