Genevieve Kaplan
Winter 2025 | Poetry
Can we drink from the same mouth
carbonation settles
deep in the belly
loose “a”s
a few “ooo”s
the vowels are lonely
and rise as needed
as hot air
a small sting
a kind of bile through the sweetness
and outside
winter glinting
and reflecting still and looking wet
effervescent bubbles
on hands and knees to gather
what order
might cohere—
and then clouds arrange
in the sky
could they make
a cooler full of ice
to catch your attention
cold to the touch
and slippery
could they make
a sentence
if each froth
wore a word
if each lather held
a letter
perhaps accumulate upon your skin
while it is spring
Genevieve Kaplan is the author of (aviary) (Veliz Books); In the ice house (Red Hen); and five chapbooks, most recently Felines, which sounds like feelings (above/ground). Her poems can be found in Puerto del Sol, South Dakota Review, Bennington Review, the Laurel Review, Poemeleon, and elsewhere.She lives in southern California where she edits the Toad Press International chapbook series, publishing contemporary translations of poetry and prose.