Chelsea Grimmer


My Dearest Dr. xxxx,

You smell like yellow
and sound like acupuncture
              needles pressing into that spot
just below my knees.

With little found in your room to cool
             the foot-fever each night
tell your fictions:

And I tell you:

              I am healing. I am healing.

Then this waiting:
            a yellow room
      and few scents to satisfy
soft-salt cravings.

Holding the paper
     that will sand down
            bones: whiten them
a manageable size.

Wanting for an ache
            in the collarbone,
     waiting for a stretch
of the ribs.

I happen in a body: skin and hair
     and muscle and instruments
            compressing this diaphragm
and say again how:

                            THE PAST IS VAPOR AND YOU WILL DISSOLVE INTO THE FUTURE IS A                                           FABULOUS LINE OF BROKEN BOTTLES YOU HAVE NOT YET BROKEN                                           AND THEY SHIMMER IN MORNING FOGS GO BREAK THEM

And I tell you:
                 you are the magnificent healer of the body. you assigned
                 a dog to the heart & flesh to smell the flesh. you assigned
                 crispy chicken skin to the brain. you assigned blue pills
                 to the lungs & say:

                                YOUR LEFT LUNG IS SMALLER TO EASE THE HEART AND EASE THE                                               LUNG BECAUSE YOU FIND YOUR AIR AND HOLD FOR INFLATION                                                 THE LUNG AND THE HEART WILL PUMP THE FASTER MUCH FASTER.

Thus, I am indebted
     to the magnetic vibrations----

             Yours of yellow
bruising and crackling cartilage,



My Dearest of Hairy Companions, Mon Chien Blanc,

about the smell of manic:
I hear the bee herds ‘tween our gazes

              (pink tongues make teeth seem white)

you watch the shift    the stir   you smell   
the changing brain blood & sniff it

how to make a scent-map for the body?
skin here     bones there    & then the flesh?
a taste & trace & map the course

when waiting to be here
the winter turned hot
& the earthquake woke & all
that was left were these

                            covenants turned to salt
                            with everything underwater I asked
                            but did not hear an answer

the bee herds plumbing my bones----

               (i surfaced hairless but breathing & bones with bee-filled marrow)

oath to lead a lifetime
of chicken livers     red     pink     wet   
& the sound of a brain clicking into

                            did the ticks do this?
                            can you smell my dead babies
                            swim this ransacked tubing?


I remember the first time I called
myself into a body & waited for you
to follow: prophetess I called & waited

                           in the buzzing until I heard
                           my brain crescendo into

& asked for you & surfaced hairless
but breathing & skimming the intos
sliding a sound called jouissance
& with it each scent I knew

                          now     my eyes are level with the water
                          & you smell it. now     I think

             the world smells like fresh-cut
             cow skin & I know you smell it     too:
             it is the only way to know

you smell it     too     don’t you----

yours like the change
from open to scabbed,


read chelsea's biography