It is all right to ignore it because that’s what you do with what’s under the bed. You do nothing to it, there’s nothing to it.

To sit by the window. To pretend the coo and ruffle come from outside.

Spring comes, and against all odds is a time tantrum. You could stay shadowed or suspended.

Under the bed you’ve made the wrong nest.

Like all newborns they come out gooey and crushable. They round their mouths up to the world.

You use your eyes to satisfy another hunger. Staring at rooftops.

You sprinkle seeds and trickle milk, you feel like the sky. I am the mommiest.

You wind down the flights to the courtyard, find a shady corner.

If there had been a hatchling hospital; if there had been time to prepare; a swanning or a pigeonhole.

Back in your room you read parables and cookbooks. You insist responsibility is the same as response.

You fall asleep with all the drawers open, the feathering far off.



BECCA KLAVER is a PhD candidate in English at Rutgers, a founding editor of Switchback Books, and the author of the poetry collection LA Liminal (Kore Press, 2010) and the chapbook Inside a Red Corvette: A 90s Mix Tape (greying ghost, 2009). The poem "ruffle & coo" will next appear in Merrily, Merrily, a chapbook forthcoming from Lame House Press.