Two Poems

By: Chloe Tsolakoglou


Morning of another winter and

a self forms at the edge of desire:

               swollen with light,

parting the firmament. First,

a pause, the pomegranate of

              your tongue

hemorrhages vowels. And how beautiful—

the way the collared dove perches

              on lurid chinaberry

perceptive of its echo.

I utter your lack is my lack


converge into me. There is no way

to preserve this instant for

              poetic necessity.

The breadth of our meadow 

is open like a wing shorn sky.


The sound of your name falls

flatly into a nest of

glistening bees, they ravish

the wet landscape;

I cannot find a place for

my empty hands—

In the mantle of the sun there is

heather, balmy in its nature,

and a lonely syllable.

Perhaps God bore us

longing  and cacophonous;

how suddenly the light

has shifted—

What I mean to say is

I wish to sink my teeth into you.

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. Find her work at