My skeleton is no set of bones
but a hunger I’ve buried.
A yearning for a god
with the mind of the moon,
a radiant string of revolutions.
I have organized my days badly,
spent hours like dimes in a cheap casino.
Even the stars are restless, wincing above
the little houses tucked in their yards.
I am searching for a burial ground,
a place to stay awhile.
Each god remains a stranger,
except you. Take me home,
where a tulip grows in December,
where a rock floats in a dark lake.
Where is my life instinct,
purring like a kitten,
waiting to be stroked,
that erotic buzz in the veins,
unfolding, stretching toward the sun?
I have an arrow for a soul
and the body of a crow,
a rising, a traveling,
that hums like a river
and can’t be cleaned.
I’ve visited many gods’ houses and nearly escaped
with a thing or two. A wood candlestick,
an embroidered tablecloth, but no jewel
between the lips of a stranger
that I could see.
Until you, no unexpected panderer
feeding me a mountain
from the palm of one’s hand.
Never mind that it’s a mountain of ash.
It tastes like honeysuckle
pulled through the flower’s heart.
Kassandra Montag holds a master’s degree in English Literature and her award-winning poetry and short fiction has appeared in journals and anthologies, including Midwestern Gothic, Nebraska Poetry, Prairie Schooner,and Mystery Weekly Magazine. After the Flood is her first novel. More of her work can be found at kassandramontag.com.
Artwork: Natalia Drepina