Poem of the Day
Twins
By Dorothea Lasky
Man in an Easter suit
Leans into me
To kiss me
But I am not in the mood for that
I turn and cough
I am desirable
Man in an Easter suit
Leans into me
To kiss me
But I am not in the mood for that
I turn and cough
I am desirable
Sun guzzles quick down August’s throat.
The valley otherwise
charred, this glade is
old-growth miracle.
The big-voice flashers.
Wings of metal and night.
Peak gust and west of July.
He wanted no money,
had nothing to sell,
didn’t boast or brag or bitch,
except a little bit.
Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her
cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter
moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live.
Nowhere to go back to—they say—but there is somewhere to go.