A Small Opening | Caroline Crew


Inmate for another month,

my meat house does nothing

to compete against its nature.

What is built cannot be unbuilt—

erosion an act of faith

I put on in colder mornings

when a robe is not enough.

The window is painted

to resemble a window opened

an inch enough to soothe

a sense of the possible,

in which tulips lean toward

the light, the ridges of their skulls

unwed to the graves promised

in their cutting. I open too

for the season, the sea waiting

for its daily bread outside

these shapes, a craving.

I have bought my rot

to its edges, a bitter mouth

my mouth, the month unending,

the end only undone.




Caroline Crew is the author of PINK MUSEUM (Big Lucks) as well as several chapbooks. Her poetry and essays appear in The Kenyon Review, DIAGRAM, and Gulf Coast, among others. Currently, she is pursuing a PhD at Georgia State University, after earning an MA at the University of Oxford and an MFA at UMass Amherst. She’s online here: caroline-crew.com.