• HOME

  • CURRENT ISSUE

  • GUIDELINES

  • ARCHIVED ISSUES

  • ABOUT

  • CONTACT

  • More

    Against the Faces of White Roses  

     

    by Danielle Susi

     

     

    The doorjambs stitch 

    with the humidity now. I hope everyone in this empty house hears 

                me when I get up in the middle of the night. I hope 

                              they hear a seal break and 

                              a floorboard moan

     

    A quilt is a lot like sorrow 

                 in that

                             it buries you

    creates seams over you into 

    an obsessive surface 

                 scrambled

     

    The hum 

    The drag of a presser foot

                                                             through a hollow

     

    Dust clouds when we clap 

    against looseness, 

                 against the faces of white roses

     

    A quilt will not make you 

    feel less solitary but mimics the weight and heat and

                sweat of a body. It’s skin, 

                a series of piercings 

                you run a hand past imperfect flesh

     

    When you get so swollen

    I cover you

     

                            let yourself sleep

    Previous
    Next Poem

    Copyright © 2018 Kettle Blue Review

    • Facebook Clean
    • Twitter Clean