Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Maybe the Dead

Lie awake at night in the cool surf
between the greyness of sharks and
the dream of teeth dropping
like petals in the pinkness of Spring.

Each night the house Witch chased me
from basement to attic,
Lion bit a big hole in my little leg,
my Dark-Mare galloped on;
I flew, pedal to the air, my gored knee rattling

like my son’s baby teeth, tic-tacs boxed
in my pocket, they would stay with me,
roll in the snow, pose for pictures
with snowmen: old boots for hands,
pine-needle mohawk, helmet of sled’s half-disc,
eyelashed twigs—let me capture
the smiles of their undead dreams.
 

sarahkSarah Key has had poems published in Poet Lore, Naugatuck River Review, and Enizagam. She has studied at Cave Canem with Eduardo Corral and in master workshops with Sharon Dolin and others. Currently, she has seven essays on The Huffington Post. Her blogspot at The Huffington Post is here.

 

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Categories: Poetry, Themed, When I died...

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2 replies

  1. Oh, I love this one. This is so perfect.

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