Nick Wort



It’s so stupid
the way a
mentholated cigarette
sits in your hand like
a bible, how the smoke
dances up and around
your eyes like the aftermath
of a pipe bomb
A black dress
rides your body:
dancing over
every asthmatic breath
hugging the
curves until it derails
at your ankles,
Viareggio 2009.
The tiniest freckle
sins above
your belly button,
no longer shrouded
in polyester and cotton.

NICK WORT is a graduate student at Indiana University South Bend. He is the winner of the 2018 Lester Wolfson Poetry Prize and currently lives in northern Indiana. He has one son, Oliver, who is a cat.