Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Kit Kennedy 

What Winter Stole

Damaged weathervane
intimate calligraphy
bare trees
winter tarnishes.
When I grown into my mother
will I wear her face
mirror’s lacquer
of separation,
spilled milk?


The egg-white
holding half-drunk
coffee creates
landscape of stain
pushes you close
to dove-gray precipicered
lips smile back
you call time
whatever she wishes.

The Optimist Offers An Opinion
On Night, Cold, And The Moon

Dark approaches this place
of mature trees that stymies
the butt of wind and rain
offering a lullaby
to closing doors
that night foster-childs.
I say the moon
is a filament
across luscious velvet
the cold envies.


Poppies close
barricade against night
I grasp a one-way ticket
hear distant rain

The Egyptians Would Approve

what was left
inside my mother’s coffin --
two dimes & a pack
of fags
the Egyptians would approve
what’s found inside
a book --
shopping list
postcard of some art-thing
inscription (not by the author)
the word love so faint experienced as an echo

-all poems previously published in Strange Road

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