In the Morning

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



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.