Lori Quillen
Two Poems
Inside/Outside
Canary yellow breath sweet
tumbles down the path to
elation NO elevation
in the forest the crickets
have factions, have armies
have ways of watching you
through the window and
reporting back to me.So for three nights now
you bake biscuit men with
frosting guns, tailor-made
suits of cotton crepe and
shiny nickel buttons- AHH
but your armament was
eaten at dawn and my
rats cannot drown.Will never drown. Sleek
fun, wet with dewdrops
dancing to the crickets
cacophony, 1-2-3-4-5
I have lost count, there
are so many, tucked into
the thimble I placed in
your pocket last night.ode to the water
I do ‘wet fret’
(vanilla sugar as
a slow rainbow)
the violin – archival
to my cold wood
floor.Who would have
guessed – the
shower is a
Hot Hen House
spaghetti hair
dripping.Porch side: 3
walruses belt
out love songs
and the biscuits
burn into
too damp
towels.Stutter.
Stutter.