Leah Claire Kaminski

Vacationer

So I keep quiet, and things
don’t clink and crinkle: circle
under the eyes unnoticed.

And if I walk careful like a drunk
the fountain’s burble stands in

for my still blood. Cruise-slow clouds
for the movement of my eyes.
My veins miss
when I’m moving sideways from them.
I’m
one foot to the left. My head is one foot

to my right. When I see the aching trees
and mountains I fake sick

because they make me ill.
Because I can’t be there when I’m
there, only being ill makes me feel them.

I’m in a field and I could be doing anything:
next to me I’m smiling.

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Leah Claire Kaminski is the author of two chapbooks: Root is forthcoming from Milk and Cake Press, and Dancing Girl Press published Peninsular Scar. Poems appear in places like Bennington Review, Fence, Massachusetts Review, Prairie Schooner and ZYZZYVA. Some of her recent honors include Grand Prize in the Summer Literary Seminars Fiction & Poetry Contest and in the Matrix Magazine LitPOP awards judged by Eileen Myles and a residency at Everglades National Park.