Gingerbread House Lit Mag


In July the dandelions glowed so hard 

     they threatened to burn anything within reach.

Now they’re almost invisible, the lawn 

     a field of wishes tossed in wind.

I’ve let everything go. The grass bends

     toward the ground, the birdbath

that belonged to the owner before me

     rests in two pieces. All day I watch sparrows

imprint flight on sky and ignore the buzz of motors.

    At midnight I’ll walk barefoot into darkness 

and feel the flower ghosts rising up against my skin

    like the silvery dust of moonlight.  

Lori Lamothe

Lori Lamothe’s third poetry book is Kirlian Effect (FutureCycle, 2017). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, Blackbird, Goblin Fruit, Hayden’s Ferry, The Journal, Still: the Journal, Verse Daily and elsewhere. She is a writing instructor and an assistant baker. 

Artwork: Bella Kotak

This entry was published on December 2, 2018 at 12:07 am and is filed under 33 (December 2018), Archive, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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