Elizabeth Kuelbs
—
5 A.M. at LAX
So you unzipped your ribs and begged
the universe to hurl a little glitter in the hole
since death has been a real pig lately
and on the way to see your parents
who’ve stopped critiquing tomatoes, what
happens is a jam-packed gate with two
gray-haired Italians enthusiastically sucking face
beside you, the man’s hand inside the woman’s
jeans cupping her butt cheek, and flak-jacketed
cops clustering to save everyone from some dire
threat with a chocolate hound who wags
discreetly to remain both professional
and true, while the screen by the bar
declares You Belong Among the Wildflowers
of the golden hour Santa Monica Mountains,
and Bruno Mars sings about being locked out
of heaven, and tired travelers part for the escaped
toddler and the man who skateboards with no legs.
Elizabeth Kuelbs writes at the edge of a Los Angeles canyon. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Scientific American, Lily Poetry Review, Under a Warm Green Linden, Rust & Moth, and other publications. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Her chapbooks include How to Clean Your Eyes and Little Victory, a 2022 Independent Press Awards distinguished favorite in Social/ Political Poetry. Visit her online
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