top of page

VARIATIONS ON A MINOR DOMESTIC THEME

by leah neiboer

 

​

 

 

say we were smoking something in the kitchen windows closed

​

table between us not thinking of repercussions. say an accelerant say you closed

 

the space. full up nowhere to go now we’re talking what’s right here

 

hiding in you. right thumb catching my left clavicle.

 

 

what’s hiding is hiding left thumb right clavicle.

 

 

                                   -

                                                   -

​

​

now just hold on hold your breath count to three.

​

​

say a composition that aligns itself around mystery is likely

​

to succeed. you agreed loosened your grip took a slow drag with me

​

keeping it in a long while letting it go for obvious reasons

​

doubly curved.

​

​

                                 -

                                                   -

​

say the smoke fills the room my throat your hands. an uptick

​

of hours slide past in the haze its slow maceration its softening

​

its separation of

​

memory’s architecture what it loved. the vaulted ceiling

​

wide open rooms slick floor velvet sofa each corner.

​

how its scaffolding was ambitious of.

​

​

a future can be cleared out teased apart evenly divided.

​

​

                                  -

                                                   -

​

​

say instead I draw a bath.

​

​

say you can have whatever you want. a permanent lightness a utility a

​

luxury we slide hotly into. we are soothed by the tamarind and mint.

​

we are turning us over in our palms honey I swear we are opulent.

​

inside what’s inside. not clutching anything. our cells commingling

​

on the surface not pushed up against a concrete wall ourselves

​

not a wall not hurricane ready. it lasts and lasts.

​

​

                                   -

                                                   -

​

​

love being a tide being a pendular insanity a race to absolute

​

zero. the means of measurement are laughable. I’m serious are you

​

going out are you leaving. give me a break a good hard look

​

grazes my cheekbone like a comet like a warning shot.

​

​

​

is that a dare. a deformation of the tides. the potential of

​

the geoid folding. who’s first to call a limit to give

​

an ultimatum are you leaving.

Leah Nieboer grew up in Iowa. She is a PhD candidate in English and Literary Arts at the University of Denver, an editorial assistant for Denver Quarterly, a graduate of the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers, and the recipient of a Virginia Center for Creative Arts Fellowship. 

© 2004-2025 All Rights Reserved. American Poetry Journal

The American Poetry Journal (APJ) is back and online only for now! Theresa Senato Edwards has taken over the reins as of April 21, 2025. Unfortunately, Theresa did not get much info on past submissions, except that all submissions were responded to. She queried about the anthology, chapbook, full-length submissions, and any upcoming online issues; but the same response was given to her: that all submissions were responded to. Theresa was not able to obtain access to the old APJ Submittable account either. She requested access but was told that the APJ Submittable account was unavailable. Theresa was not a part of the mess that transpired from 2022 to 2024, approximately. And she is sorry that she doesn't have additional news about much of the past submissions as well as submission fees. She asked for financial statements but was not given any. For now the website has been updated with issue and review archives, and we will go from there. Theresa apologizes that she doesn't have more to share and hopes that all her literary citizenship and fine literary reputation over the years will help APJ move positively forward, despite all the disappointment. Theresa will try her best to regain APJ's transparency, passion, and commitment to poets and poetry.​

bottom of page