karina van berkum


Using the crippled language
of this bus’ belly

I speak into near-Spring.
There are bodies on the faces

of the buspeople who lean
like idle hips in habit.

Some graffiti shouts HUMANA
while winter slips

off the city in secret
because it never learned to ask.

I think a ripe ooze of poetry must be
creeping in the countryside

somewhere, calling to its warmer
sounds like missing creatures.

It hopes like human to catch
a writer’s life and make home

there. This, and the half-gladness of
recognition, are the desires of language.

But I’m on the 183,
my own words swelling

to sentence in my ribs. And the queer
nocturnal haunting of February’s

wet eulogy and the buds
who won’t wait for anything.

Karina van Berkum says: “I am from New England so I love experiencing and writing about seasons. I also enjoy going to the movies often, sometimes for repeated viewings (although that’s not New England, that’s just quirky). My poetry has been published in several online magazines such as Autumn Sky Poetry and Mouse Tales Press.”