In the Morning
By Robyn Campbell
two bodies resting
two bodies at rest, faces to the light,
all internal movement like plants
a floral type of narcissism
or, maybe they are not like plants
they could be like fish
faintly oiled, slick skin
shining
you say you think
death looks like life inverted
it is a turning
i say then that a poem inverted
looks something like truth
laid bare, as we are
picked nearly clean
marks left by the million
little teeth that time attracts
Born and raised in Eastern Pennsylvania, Robyn Campbell has been writing since before she can remember. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Apiary, Stirring, and 1932 Quarterly, among others. Her time is split between writing, playing drums, fleeing to the mountains, and editing Semiperfect Press. She lives and works in Philadelphia.