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Three poems by Claire Rychlewski

Wifetime visions

A specter wearing the skin of my mother

A woman who knows better

Stands in my bedroom doorway

Fingers my naked bed frame

I can feel her seething

Women and beds once wore skirts

Concealing bodies ripe and bearing

The best astronauts have the right stuff

Viscera which if possessed I would shove

Between my mattress and my box spring

The specter wearing the skin of an artist

(The art of wanting what one is meant to)

You have nothing to hide

You have nothing I’d want



Proxy love

What is it to want to be nourished?

I desire chalky liquids in foggy crystal

Spoon-fed to my cracked mouth dry sluggish tongue

Fine layer of sweat chills a paper dry hand

Brushes my hair the satisfied haze of life’s brief hiatus

To take shelter as if swaddled a febrile nest

I want to get sicker mommy anything for you


Marlboro Reds

The truth about multitudes is they’re not all likable

Midwest stock in you and many men

He can’t escape your karmic debt

He learned quickly how to choke me

The joy- pain spectrum: one long orgasm

Small-town actor home-grown man

Wish I was his toothpick

Black sap in his mouth longing to dribble

He’s so sweet and mama he has land




Claire Rychlewski is a writer living in Chicago. Her work has appeared in SARKA, The Portland Review, blush lit, witch craft magazine and Hot Pink Mag, among other publications. Her chapbook, BORN TO ROT, was published in 2022 by Bottlecap Press.



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