Uncle-hood
for Ava
An infant can be such an alien
creature: all folds, crevices, gum,
and grabs. Strange to think
we needed love the most
when in our pristine smoothness
and pre-perambulatory immobility
we didn’t know the word.
It’s not necessarily a language
but more so a kind of speech:
ineffable, fallible, naïve, unlearned,
unwise, unformed, ambivalent,
unclear, and most of all unyieldingly
loud, yet, there is nothing more honest
than a baby’s spit. These iterations
of sick and vomit and un-detachable
snot couldn’t be more sublime.
Baby, you’re an alien to me. You
couldn’t be more human if you tried.
Several Swallows Later
This time loneliness.
A darker skyline,
an ornerier sea.
This time it’s not goodbye,
but only perhaps good
riddance. Never mind
your misgivings. This
time loneliness is
serious. This time
it’s a swallow full of salt.
You disapprove
of my totality.
You swallow me, hole.
You disapprove; oh my
margins are taught.
This time I’ll make it
to five boroughs
in five hours.
Dearest rain cloud,
this is the heft
of loneliness.
Peter Burzynski is a third-year PhD student in and Graduate Assistant Coordinator of Creative Writing-Poetry at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. He holds a B.A. from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, a M.F.A. in Poetry from The New School University, and a M.A. in Polish Literature from Columbia University.
In between his studies, he has worked as a chef in New York City and Milwaukee. In addition, he works as a Teaching Assistant and an occasional adjunct. He is an Assistant Editor for the cream city review. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming from The Best American Poetry Blog, Thin Air, Prick of the Spindle, Working Stiff, Thrush Poetry Review, Your Impossible Voice, RHINO, and Forklift Ohio, amongst others.
for Ava
An infant can be such an alien
creature: all folds, crevices, gum,
and grabs. Strange to think
we needed love the most
when in our pristine smoothness
and pre-perambulatory immobility
we didn’t know the word.
It’s not necessarily a language
but more so a kind of speech:
ineffable, fallible, naïve, unlearned,
unwise, unformed, ambivalent,
unclear, and most of all unyieldingly
loud, yet, there is nothing more honest
than a baby’s spit. These iterations
of sick and vomit and un-detachable
snot couldn’t be more sublime.
Baby, you’re an alien to me. You
couldn’t be more human if you tried.
Several Swallows Later
This time loneliness.
A darker skyline,
an ornerier sea.
This time it’s not goodbye,
but only perhaps good
riddance. Never mind
your misgivings. This
time loneliness is
serious. This time
it’s a swallow full of salt.
You disapprove
of my totality.
You swallow me, hole.
You disapprove; oh my
margins are taught.
This time I’ll make it
to five boroughs
in five hours.
Dearest rain cloud,
this is the heft
of loneliness.
Peter Burzynski is a third-year PhD student in and Graduate Assistant Coordinator of Creative Writing-Poetry at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. He holds a B.A. from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, a M.F.A. in Poetry from The New School University, and a M.A. in Polish Literature from Columbia University.
In between his studies, he has worked as a chef in New York City and Milwaukee. In addition, he works as a Teaching Assistant and an occasional adjunct. He is an Assistant Editor for the cream city review. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming from The Best American Poetry Blog, Thin Air, Prick of the Spindle, Working Stiff, Thrush Poetry Review, Your Impossible Voice, RHINO, and Forklift Ohio, amongst others.
