Jerrod E. Bohn

Vessel XI: Rafter
ceiling is a surrogate sky a place to nest
you might say when we lie on our backs
& make shapes of plaster patterns—always
wanted to cradle you milk flow above
your breaths are warming winter’s
final fruits come to our tongues even here
enclosed in the sheets of our limbs
I will forever speak as if there is something
the town is hushed today
along rails a snowflake won’t melt
boxcars will carry it far away
last dusk I saw whistles & light come
on in the roofs of our mouths your body
a house of drifted stars a tiny home

Jerrod E. Bohn finished his MFA in poetry at Colorado State University. His work has appeared or is soon forthcoming in Phoebe, The Montreal Review, alice blue, FRiGG, Cleaver, SPECS, Word For/Word, Smoking Glue Gun, Watershed Review, and elsewhere. A full-length poetry book, Animal Histories, is forthcoming from Unsolicited Press. He currently lives in Fort Collins where he teaches yoga and community college writing courses and enjoys cooking and getting outdoors.