It’s Sweater Saturday! In celebration of my book, “Home is a Sweater,” coming out in late June, here is another poem from the collection. Thank you to everyone who bought a copy of the book during the pre-sale period. Y’all are awesome! Copies should ship in the next week or two.
Rendering of my Stomach
My stomach is a pink balloon
weighed down
by Petoskey stones
and a thin layer of Lake Michigan sand.
My gut,
where I store the guilt of unfinished books
the phone call never returned
is soft, curved like a pear.
Always in motion
words that spin
fear, obsession
into a tidal wave.
Trout rise for air
and fossils flip
until smooth.
Catfish listen to the life
trapped inside the stone
as it sinks to the bottom,
then bounces.
A bowling ball,
gelatin mold,
and stray dog
flip, turn inside out.
A continuous tilt-a-whirl.
The stone coral,
a green and gray hexagon heart
that bursts
every time I forget
to breathe.
The sunset in Traverse City,
the lake water
push up until my lungs are full
and the sun,
the sun can be seen
in my throat.
Stefanie Wielkopolan 