Poetry Porch: Poetry


Pretty Polly
by Kathleen Kirk

Bury me deep in the river of grass
    in my neighbor’s yard.
I am but the floating girl in the ragman’s memory,
    his danger girl, a nightmare in pink.
I am but the kiwi target of his soldier’s heart,
    his neon mirage.

It’s all pink now, or magenta, or pink & white:
    wild columbine, ribbon & lace
trimmed collars of Sweet William, all a lost
    history—a cold-blooded business,
this severing. Try to report on probability
    from the edge of sleep.

Compare the movement of mountains
    to a bee’s flight, sure of a world
restored in honey. For one desperate moment, I hold on
    to an ecology of care, then let go
the slippery hitch, watch it drop
    metallic to the canyon floor.

Copyright © 2009 by Kathleen Kirk.