Now that we have capsized
in our dark boats, the milk

goes bad, incandescent.
Still, he loves them, pale

invertebrate things, how they
suffer of astonishment,

of pinafores. The heart
like a hinge box,

or better, leeches in a jar.
We went out in the glass-bottomed

boat and upset the teacups.
Night gathered like a skirt.

On some subcontinent, we broke
the spine of the thing we could

not name. The tiny woman bathed
in blue light, who wanted

an umbrella, wanted a suitcase,
needs a dictionary, and only

the smallest lamp.  

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Kristy Bowen’s work has appeared in a number of publications, including Diagram, Stirring, and Poems Niederngasse. A three-time Pushcart nominee, Bowen was recently awarded first place in The Poetry Center of Chicago’s 10th Annual Juried Reading Competition. A poet and text/collage artist, she has read, performed, and exhibited her work at a number of venues. She edits Wicked Alice and is the founder of Dancing Girl Press.
E-mail: wickedpen74 at lycos dot com
Websites: personal website (including recent chapbook bellabonna)
Wicked Alice  

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