2 Short Poems

Kristen Lenea Ryberg

Chair

Waits
as things do
to be used or cared for
as table or stool, wedged
under a knob—when a lock
isn’t enough, placed by bedside
of dying or dance a bride in the air
waits—for anything it can handle.

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Sea Light Drains

past sieving barnacles 
reaches periwinkle-fringed scallops 
filtering particles 
on grass floor.

story of breathing in, 
keeping 
what is necessary
returning 
what isn’t

arriving
leaving 
through a shared carriage.

like the story of my pores,
sponging air 
my bi-valve nostrils
lungs reliable bellows.

some days 
porpoise finned, sun-refracted
laughing air,

others— transparent
jellyfish, shore-stranded
soft liquid machinery exposed.