Maya Bergamasco

an applied study of astronomos


you return with cheekbones

filed away by the wind.

as fresh, bird-boned jockey

on a rib-wrought horse.

staring out of a seaside house,

we wait for the moon

while our skin turns to thin milk.

a curdled froth of wave

is cradled in sea glass.

i clean your backbone

with a barbed tongue.


there is dough in the kitchen sink

doubled over, heaving.

you pat it the way you would a child,

knead it the way you would my hands.

i watch the sky unfurl as liquid amber,

each cloud a held breath,

a measure of its weight.

the branches of the maple cast

strands of copper wire across our yard.

i am left standing at the door unmoored,

set free to wild in the even hours.


Maya Bergamasco is a senior English (creative writing) major at SUNY Geneseo. She enjoys playing Ultimate Frisbee and petting dogs. Two of her poems are forthcoming in the 2017 issue of The Susquehanna Review.