Sarah Fawn Montgomery

Celestus Memorius

Send me to the moon,
love, when it’s the end

of the world or us,
forever a fiction made

from science the way
astronauts failed to find

another place to survive
when they grew tired of living

with their feet tethered
to the ground and gravity

is a luxury easy to forget
like your body orbiting

mine or a world existing
long enough to call it history

so let’s constellate a myth—
a cup, an arrow—to light

the dark, call ships home,
though we both know

no one will escape
the bomb smoke billow

rising ocean tide, wars
we create to control

a story where saving
something proves impossible

and I’m sorry for the years,
my many tears, for it was cold

alone at the edge, space
supposed to be our compromise

but then I was weightless
without you and unclipped

the cord, convinced I could
endure that emptiness alone.




Peel me tender
           hearted, rind to remind

of citrus pucker
           in winter’s brittle

dead. It is not
           difficult to dissemble—

skin an invitation
           to puncture and pulse,

old cuts a chance
           to feel the sting

and how you halve
           me like prayer

splay me open butterfly
           under a pin, cage

of the body on the feast
           spittle. I will give you good

meat, the kind of flesh
           worth taking your time

to strip, pare away pith,
           leave smooth and veinless,

the easy kind of body
           to crush between your teeth.

Sarah Fawn Montgomery is the author of Halfway from Home (Split/Lip Press), Quite Mad: An American Pharma Memoir (The Ohio State University Press), and three poetry chapbooks. She is an Assistant Professor at Bridgewater State University. You can follow her on Twitter at @SF_Montgomery