Stack by Michael Pontacoloni


Your scapula is a fin,
The way it cuts.
My palm is snow on a drumlin.

The way our bodies fit:
Clumsily, like bowls of different proportion.
We rattle when the cabinet is shut.



Michael Pontacoloni’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Shampoo, Flyway, and elsewhere. He is a student in the MFA program at the University of North Carolina, Greensboro.