A Bed in the Forest by Charles Kell

I place it in the center
clearing. Wet nettles cold
to the touch. Sleep for
what seems like seven years.

A girl wakes me with
a poke from a stick. Pulls
my bitten blanket on the forest
floor. Her eyes hide behind

dark glasses. I ask her where
I am. The theater, she says,
where one sleeps while awake.
And when a stranger disturbs

you, a black hole opens under-
neath. Trees sway to almost
break. Your heart pounds
the color of silence & you

don’t know whether to sing or cry.

© 2016 Charles Kell


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Charles Kell is a PhD student at The University of Rhode Island and editor of The Ocean State Review. His poetry and fiction have appeared in The New Orleans Review, The Saint Ann’s Review, and elsewhere. He teaches in Rhode Island and Connecticut.


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