12/31/2017 Poetry by Remi RecchiaOn Leaving Planet Fitness at Two in the Morning Because It’s Late & You Can’t Have a Drink Right Now I ate a sponge last night & it was warm like bullfrog brushing soap spuds I never knew to freeze vodka until my rapist taught me to December sky empty as always wife’s touches quiet & aching we came last night & wept pillow fell white underneath our quiet I don’t have to say what violation feels like: sharp sting of needlework on down—but have you heard a toad cry in winter? Its spots livered, mouth puckering into beak. Yellow underbelly growing fuzz. Small lungs breathing lint. ![]() Bio: Remi Recchia is an MFA Candidate in Poetry at Bowling Green State University, where he serves as Assistant Poetry Editor for the Mid-American Review and teaches Creative Writing. His work has appeared in or will soon appear in the Pittsburgh Poetry Review, the Old Northwest Review, Blue River Review, Front Porch, Gravel, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and Ground Fresh Thursday Press, among others. Comments are closed.
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