A Little Sorrow in the Title
I settled for the reverse narrative.
The after ever, happily.
I’d purchased a dragon, a handful of teeth in a tin (they’d advertised it as arattle!), a surgeon’s veil, some Oil of Olay, a few parasites.
The water rippled, and I stood very close to it, having a conversation withmyself.
In our session the week before, the handsome Dr. Greer suggested that if Iweren’t afraid of water, I’d likely drown.
Touché, Dr. Greer.
If you imagine humanity as the stained banister of the stairwell.
In such that it’s fairly easy to paint over a stain.
Oh, hey. What’s your name. You’ve got a little something in your teeth.
I’ve been pleasant enough. My rage, modest. My attempts at betrayal, weak.
Picket fences, perishables.
My husband used to call me a timebomb, but now he calls me…
You're reading a preview of
The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, November/December 2023