Poem for MDF

Michael Demyan


It is hard
getting to the stairs
for now, with my mind it is

pulling at my legs
to mold
some shape for me
to stand on—

I touch the sheets
you’ve left, turned away
from me to hear
the stove making ready

the day, we must return
yet the ledge is bright
and you stand
where the sun stands.

What I do now
chop wood to heat this
Massachusetts cabin
is to hold you
on a Manhattan couch

when it is raining or
when it isn’t.


Michael Demyan drives a pick-up truck, builds scenery, climbs mountains, co-edits DenimSkin magazine, and is currently based in NYC.