I have always been afraid of holding
babies, of a head rolling back
from my arms and crashing, a flower-
ing egg on linoleum. Here, you
take it. Broken
blue shoes by the front door
not keeping my feet in place.
What the mouth holds, withholds
in life won’t change. The recursive mobile
of fog. I trust that my body will hold me
like a hammock of fog. Will destroy
the sky that way.
Caroline Klocksiem is the author of a poetry chapbook Circumstances of the House and Moon (Dancing Girl Press), and her poems are published or forthcoming from such journals as The Iowa Review; Hayden’s Ferry Review; CutBank; The Pinch; BlazeVox; H_NGM_N; Super Arrow; North American Review; and others. She is a Swarthout Award and Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellowship recipient and teaches at the University of Alabama.