Cedar mulch rough on hands
willow shedding leaves
tiny room, thatched roof
worn and weathered wooden bowl
clay pot cracked and brown
walls stained with children’s fingerprints
dog’s fur against legs
green tea bitter on tongue
He was wearing a black suit
his oil company was sued
rough earth where the drill descended
rough sky where the sun rendered
the clouds useless
while the shape of his tongues
drew pentagrams
He had five tongues
one for his red car
one for his mansion
one for his children
one for his museum
one for all men
who always rooted
for the home team
In the darkness where robins nest
where Chernobyl’s walls
are covered in marigold
where the earth springs hot
rock embers of coal
where the baby stirs
and the wombs grow old
She crushes the leaves
she builds small fires
tea of rusted plows
of dusk
of midnight’s birth
embers in the sad arc of sky
Kika Dorsey’s chapbook, Beside Herself, which was published in 2011; her poetry has been published in numerous journals, including The Columbia Review, The Comstock Review, The Denver Quarterly, Freshwater, as well as numerous others. She has a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature and teach at Front Range Community College. She lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband, two children, and border collie.
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