Verse & Photography by Kay Kennett
to be romantic
to steep in bath water
to float in a cupped hand
to read into
to press in a book and forget
to remember today more than other days
to remember what I like to do
to remember who I like to give rose petals to
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When the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling
to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.
Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
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Time tends to create an opaque membrane | with more limited optical clarity | behind the lenses of eyes | that automatically adjust for distant targets
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I like how you spend your time
breathing—
into your pelvic fire,
to help signal a feeling of release,
balancing contentment with desire,
because it is necessary for holiness.
I like how you spend your time
eating—
what makes you pucker:
green tea, Montmorency cherries;
steeling yourself for loose hunger,
and for whomever says: Yes, please.
shoulder pads
a cigarette burn on my left shoulder
her middle name
a battle with me at the middle
second helpings of mashed potatoes
too little pride to succeed, too much to ask for help
how to win Monopoly
how to cheat
how to cheat the system
Nintendo 64
an excuse for asking:
“Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Really, are you sure?”
love
okay poetry 