We Are the Only Poets, and Everyone Else Is Prose by Kelli Russell Agodon

And when I sonnet my body onto your page and you try to leave me, I emdash you

We Are the Only Poets, and Everyone Else Is Prose

by Kelli Russell Agodon

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Today’s prayer is my body pressed 
against your body. Emily Dickinson 
on the nightstand, still talking to Susan.
Occasionally, I’m the ghost who places 
coldness into the left ventricle 
of your heart, but I’m also your positive 
prognosis even as doctors smoke 
cigarettes and scientists say, 
They should have sent a poet.
And when I sonnet my body 
onto your page and you try to leave 
me, I emdash you—see 
the beauty in that fine thin line
—a bridge grows between us.
Hold me as the ghost I am—it’s impossible
not to love you—in soft focus, knowing 
I’ll be there like that foggy night you 
stumbled on the sidewalk, understanding
there is always one streetlight on your way 
home that will continue to shine. 

First published in ONLY POEMS (June, 2024)