Tuesday, November 29, 2005

from archer avenue


The tail light put the dark
in her mouth, this rubied gleam.

Black lake beneath her nightgown
littered with sparklers and roman

candles. At home, the stockyard filth
in her mother's kitchen sullies

the mended bedspreads.The bleached
bones of peaches. She breathes

a little sometimes. Swallows a silver
locket lifted from the thrift store.

Not the real girl with the dress
rehearsal and the geometry of sixes.

But the one gone musty in the throat.
Gone deep in the milk white.

1 comment:

Brian said...

kristy, i love your work...i find myself swallowing it over and over again, still thirsty for more. i'm applying to Columbia College for an MFA...i'd like your opinion on my work...i am forever the hardest critic of my poetry, a bit of a pessimist, but it is needed i believe. well, hopefully you'll have time to read it over. i'm glad i came across your work. take it easy.