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Fish Eyes
I want to tell you about my day
all the hopeless little things I've been flailing about with
the three panic attacks that I had before noon
one of which died as soon as you called
I want to tell you about the things I've been watching
on TV, have a deep political discussion about
God and abortion, find out where you stand on both sides of
these issues
and what you think of me
I want to tell you about how I've been stalking you
for a good year now, that having you in bed with me
is the product of months of careful plotting and planning
I want to tell you just how long I've loved you
and how I'll die if you ever leave.
December 26, 1996
tiny hands, you have got such
tiny hands, monkey paws curled bald
on my chest, my breasts
swollen as large as your
new-born head.
never thought nonsense could mean
so much, hear your voice
in my sleep, want to
wake you from your midday slumber
just to hear you chirp
like an ancient
grumpy bird.
Wednesday
The seagulls discover
the children buried just
beneath the sand and
settle in swarms,
flock until the
sun is broken
into motes of
gold light. It was
the fingers of
the youngest girl
poking out like
twin clusters of
toadstool stalks that
alerted the
carrion to
their prey.
Holly Day's poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have most recently
appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Skyway News, and Ruah. She currently
works as a reporter and a writing instructor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and
lives with her two children and husband. Her hobbies include skateboarding,
crocheting, and trying to peaceably communicate with uncooperative vending
machines.
Email: Holly Day
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