About this poet

Aaron Smith is the author of Appetite (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2012).

Boston

Aaron Smith
I've been meaning to tell
you how the sky is pink
here sometimes like the roof
of a mouth that's about to chomp
down on the crooked steel teeth
of the city,

I remember the desperate 
things we did
                and that I stumble
down sidewalks listening
to the buzz of street lamps
at dusk and the crush
of leaves on the pavement,

Without you here I'm viciously lonely

and I can't remember 
the last time I felt holy,
the last time I offered
myself as sanctuary

*

I watched two men 
press hard into
each other, their bodies
caught in the club’s
bass drum swell,
and I couldn’t remember
when I knew I’d never
be beautiful, but it must 
have been quick
and subtle, the way
the holy ghost can pass
in and out of a room.
I want so desperately
to be finished with desire,
the rushing wind, the still
small voice.

From Blue on Blue Ground  (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005). Copyright © Aaron Smith. Used with permission of the author.

Aaron Smith

Aaron Smith

Aaron Smith is the author of Appetite (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2012).

by this poet

poem

I’m almost forty and just understanding my father 
doesn’t like me. At thirteen I quit basketball, the next year 
refused to hunt, I knew he was disappointed, but never 
thought he didn’t have to like me 
to love me. No girls. Never learned
to drive a stick. Chose the kitchen and
poem

With cotton candy armpits and sugary
Crevices, sweat glazing your donut skin.
Have you ever been fat, Brad?
Have you ever wanted a Snickers
More than love and lain on your bed
While the phone rang and rolled one
On your tongue, afraid to eat it, afraid
It would make your jeans too