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!
