"[A squall imprints the windows]" by Kimberly Kralowec

[A squall imprints the windows]

A squall imprints the windows,
unburdened by pigment. That weight
is carried by orchids and human cells —
thickest when flushed. You are the warmest
thing in the room. A dragon plant that held
its bloom for twenty years gives us jasmine
in winter. Maybe someday we will be deadened
to flowers. Not today. When your breath
embosses my skin, I lose track of color —
the shade between the minutes, the dye
between the days, the diluted city dark.

Kimberly Kralowec

Kimberly Kralowec is the author of a chapbook, We Retreat into the Stillness of Our Own Bones (Tolsun Books, forthcoming May 2022). Her poems have appeared in journals such as The Inflectionist Review, Sublunary Review, The Night Heron Barks, High Shelf, Star 82 Review, and Birdland. A lawyer by profession, she holds an English degree from Pomona College in Claremont, California, and lives in San Francisco. Her poetry blog is anapoetics.com.

Headshot: Veronique Kherian

Photo Credit: Grey Pulliam