Chloe Tsolakoglou

Updated: Feb 1, 2021

huntington


the roses are named

neon cowboy, dancing flame

and I say

Did you know bees sleep in the crux?

tj is so beautiful now,

measuring their aloneness across

the thicket—

we are pining for the return

of a thing that looks like home:

their green eye births thorns,

my outstretched arms like stamens—

our garden is waning and sometimes

i discern a closeness.

 

now, november

i.

on the kitchen table is my grief,

a kind of limp animal

stillness tempts my hands

but I have yet to

draw a simple conclusion—

there, the beaming sternum

almost transparent

i enter its supple and

suddenly feel very embarrassed;

the oblique realization

of living, having lived

How does one make absence

legible?

when I crush the red seed

language stops—

magnolias shed too much

of themselves in the fall.

ii.

absence follows grief

and blackberry bushes

mangle the skin, purple

undulating and becoming

a delta at the river

of my wrist

i eat madly, hastily—

stuff the berries in

my shallow pockets

things seem to have purpose

when consumed;

the echo of summer

is cloaked in loss.

 

Chloe Tsolakoglou is a Greek-American writer who grew up in Athens, Greece. She obtained her MFA from the Jack Kerouac School, where she served as the Anselm Hollo Fellow.

Recent Posts

See All

Vots de casament I hear a woman yell but she’s a bitch! She’s a bitch. I sit on the red sofas of the Monarch bar, again, a beer. La más barata, por favor. Brindo por mis tías. Many alcohólicos en mi f

THE ROAD HOME The road home is full of dusts, on your way back you would learn to take Those classes you fled from, lessons of patience, how to marry the chaos softly, How little could mean bounty som

how to banish a ghost ritual is just another name for the habits grief carves from a mourner’s tongue. you empty your mouth until you’re a rabid song knee-sunk in your mother’s garden. prayers a rift