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colby

Kate Colby

My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is

Here, take it. You can
have it, the embroidery
hoop outside of which
I work, darn everything
for want of larger holes.

             Backed up against
             a bundling board of
             increasing proportions

             grinding my teeth and
             kicking off the covers,
             shallow sleep of being
             not marriage material.

Climb inside the vitrine,
gather together the glass
flowers that I want to
break between my teeth,
hear shatter in my head.

How will it end? With neither
a bang nor a whimper, but a
weary, insistent banging

Three cheers for Mrs. Bradford—

             She fell over the side and died.
             She fell back over the side and died.
             She leaned back over the side and died.

You gave us quite a scare.

I return as Martin Guerre.

My tiny plot
I hoe and harrow
again and again
to see each time
what I might grow there.

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