In the Back

The fog of the sauna crusts my eyes closed
with clear scabs-I can't breath right
in this heat-turn off the steam
and I'll move
any way you tell me.

Your eyes are jungle cat's staring candles
in the dark, across the room-just give me
a chance to heal, these claw marks hurt-
just let me lie down for a moment,
just let me rest for a moment
and I'll move
any way you tell me to.

Some Happy Medium

Memory:
Grandma used to hold me, tell me
angels built the mountains, painted
sunsets from the colors left
when rainbows fade away.

Reality:
Grandma hated Mommy, always tried
to cut my hair, dress me up
like a normal child, sick of flower children
hippie clothes, agnostics
New Age freaks.

Going Through My Roommate's Stuff

like a tiny horseshoe crab, dried legs
tucked against its belly, eyestalks
glossy as if the thing had
just crawled out of the water and onto
the beach

I almost put my hand on it
pulling art stamps and ink pads
and broken crayons out of
the box, laying them down on the
top of the bed, not realizing I
was setting it

free
chill like the touch of a poisonous
spider, sand-colored legs scratching the wood
of the cigarette box, coming slowly to life
and I still want to know
why
it was in Ivan's desk

All poems - Holly Day