Four Poems — Ivy Kleinman · I Open Every Window

I wouldn't ask you to stay

By Ivy Kleinman

but I'd give the world to have you warm up feet when I get cold I wouldn't ask you to stay but I'd rewind time so I could boop your cold wet nose I wouldn't ask you to stay but I wish that things didn't have to end You didn't become an elderly dog You didn't have tumors that were inoperable You saw me in my blue hand me down prom dress You were there for your puppy ice cream on St Patrick's day You got to come back to the dent you left at the foot of my bed Back to sniffing the butt of anyone who walked through the door leaping and rolling in the marshmallow snow chomping on all our school lunch containers but I wouldn't ask you to stay

where you lead, I will follow

By Ivy Kleinman

Our list of adventures s p a n sthe state from the Rookwood ice cream shop in Cincy to the island of Put-in Bay off the coast of Cleveland each destination packed with opportunity for memories to Mohican State Park in search of the waterfalls carved by time soaking up the endless green serenity to the Rock House discovering an unreal nature manufactured cave in awe of the freshly damp blanket of foliage to Battelle Darby Creek where the bison roam strolling to get the best view of the misplaced giants to Mount Jeez up the winding single lane road wildflowers and weeds encroach through the cracks in the pavement a view that outlooks a plethora of still trees to Malabar Farm seemingly deserted but fields with horses and goats three coops lined in a row as the chickens avoid the beaming sun to countless more paths where You lead, I will follow

I take many forms

By Ivy Kleinman

As a beer bottle Hands embrace me Lips grace the rim I am translucent A hue of green Shattered. A million shards Swept into the vast sea The cold water glistens me with frost Smoothed by the salt particles rubbing against my harsh edges Waves whisk me from the comfort of the sand I tumble from shore to shore A hand uncovers me From under the sand and stones The sea is no longer Pristine. Silver blankets my once sharp exterior Engulfed in a smooth shine I am an artifact Now coiled around the index finger Gleaming as sun rays pass through me

H.D.

By Ivy Kleinman

The tower of textbooks loom In the corner Empty water cups line the wooden Dresser Watercolor paintings sprawled across The barren walls Discarded crinkled chip bags poke from the lid Of the trash can Random shit Litters the carpeted floors Numerous Tasks await Attention But alas The feather filled duvet cover engulfs my once frigid feet Warm afternoon light dimly illuminating my surroundings A fresh cup of Earl Grey tea releases sweet vapors into the cool room Trapped in the warmth of the sherpa blanket Soaking in the comfort of the unproductivity Here I linger In a bliss state of sleepy peace Knowing I should be up and about But instead I am here Hurkle Durkling