Sometimes the Body

Caleb Scott

 
 

Sometimes the body
is opened, leaf turned up-
ward, waiting for

rain. But there is,
too, the morning-
glory, by the time

we see it, twisted
into itself, spent
horn, beholden no


more to the sun. One
there, maybe in the
gleam still un-

furled, catching
the last of the light
before the corner

eats and eats
well. White Brick
Stain, Shadow of

a Bike, Rusted
Well of Grill and
Plastic Bottle: follow

the sunlight like
some flowers do,
or end it brilliantly

in shame, sharing
but husks with
the world, knowing

a name and called
to do it every
day, missing the

opening, closing

too, but glad of course
that it has happened.



Caleb Scott is a writer and actor. His plays and performance pieces have been produced and presented at venues in New York City and around the country. His writing has appeared in The Bellevue Literary Review, Nashville Review, Typishly Literary Journal, From Whispers to Roars, and Eclipse and will appear in forthcoming issues of Peauxdunque Review, Coffin Bell Journal, Public Poetry Anthology, and December Magazine; his first book, U.F.O., was published in 2006 by PowerHouse Books in New York. He lives in Miami, Florida.

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