Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Sarah Key’

Under Glen Span Arch, Central Park, April 2009

A ring of bluebells hushes the Ravine: on rough dirt water runs by; birds trill along; squirrels hurry ahead. Stopped behind Ancient Schist, we spy his bared young hips swaying: back, forth, in grotto’s shade, her hidden mouth.   Sarah 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 […]

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Oui, Chef

I would do anything for a man in toque blanche imperious Doge impish chagrin imprints black-and-white peers down from the past my trip into him I fell from New York a long way to Spain and found France in a man, oh, he cooks when I’m there, dozens of visits fly by the years, how I long not for the man but his youth double-breasted soft lips buttoned up in […]

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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, […]

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