Turning Small

She keeps eating tender roses,
euros in her pocket,
of various sizes.
They don't help.
They don't rub off.
Gotten her self
in deeper before.
She can have it,
take her pick.
Grace Slick says the 60s
were the perfect time
for a person like her
as if . . .

it was eros

anima
tasting the ashes,
cool ambers in her hand,
small fractions of a woman.
They don't help.
They don't rub off.
Turn her into a diamond.
Pick her a ruby. Call her Lucy,
letter over to the other
side, hazy purple,
sky-writing
as if . . .

surely

it was yesterday,
tender blooming,
star rubbing,
turning small.


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Monday's Poem
		© 2010 Kim Clark Kim Clark lives on Vancouver Island. Disease and desire, mothering and the mundane propel her ongoing journey between poetry and prose. Kim's work can be found in Body Breakdowns (Anvil Press), The Malahat Review, All Rights Reserved, Ascent Aspirations, as well as e-zines and other publications in Canada and the U.S. Kim has just completed a short story collection and two full length poetry manuscripts. She has been a 2010 winner in both the SCRATCH poetry and fiction contests and been short-listed in the Malahat Review's Novella Contest.
Turning Small She keeps eating tender roses, euros in her pocket, of various sizes. They don't help. They don't rub off. Gotten her self in deeper before. She can have it, take her pick. Grace Slick says the 60s were the perfect time for a person like her as if . . . it was eros anima tasting the ashes, cool ambers in her hand, small fractions of a woman. They don't help. They don't rub off. Turn her into a diamond. Pick her a ruby. Call her Lucy, letter over to the other side, hazy purple, sky-writing as if . . . surely it was yesterday, tender blooming, star rubbing, turning small. about us ::: guidelines ::: contact ::: order ::: chapbooks ::: Monday's Poem ::: Monday's Archive