Skip to content

& Still Your Indian Paintbrush Mouth

& still my heart clenched / in her tight little fist. / & still / your kaleidoscope irises / imprinted / into my chewed bubblegum core. / & still rose petal blind. & still stitched / to that yellow mattress. & / still. / & still / a coal mine throat / stolen canary. / & still the moon. / & still the sun. / & still an unfulfilled promise wrapped / in a band of white around my fourth finger. / & still the trees. / & still the birds. / & still my blood rushes toward you no matter how / many poems I claim myself lunar. / & still space. / & still rings around Saturn. / & still my pen in your orbit—hush, felt tip, hush! / & still wings plucked. / & still moth to porch light. / & still hackneyed. / & still Rio Grande. / & still bluebonnet currents / cicada drawl / cooling back of the neck with cold glass / condensation. / & still your blood orange mouth / beckoning. / & still. / the caged sparrow split open / ribs / cracked by acid pull.

2 thoughts on “& Still Your Indian Paintbrush Mouth”

  1. Some arresting images here, Kait. I love – “& still my pen in your orbit” and “moth to porchlight”. I’m a big fan of repetition as a device, too. One can play with it in so many ways … Good to read you here .. again! 😉

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Copied!