Two Poems
by Cami Park
Girl World
These chalk moon lashes
These dusty pomegranate dead
These giant heart clouds
mammatus
alive
for you
for the other you
good little librarian head
awake
reassured
hiding whatever fainted fragmentary things
in ironic Saturday milk.
9 Dreams
A picnic. A couple eats blackberries, wild
from the brush. Their tongues become
leaden, the taste of bitter peaches. They
mime their complaints with stained hands.
A woman washes dishes. A man
comes from behind, places
her soapy hands over her breasts.
There are light bulbs
to be changed, endless
ly changed.
An organ plays.
A heavyset man demonstrates
the fourth position.
Rope.
A dog carries a leg bone
through stacks of old books,
bars of slanted dust.
A lady in pearls crushes the
vertebrae of canned salmon
between her front teeth.
I keep your heart as a pet
and feed it nickels.
There is war.
Cami Park is well aware. Her work can be found in places like Quick Fiction, Smokelong Quarterly, NOÖ Journal, Wigleaf, Abjective, Staccato Fiction, Matchbook, and elimae. She keeps a blog at http://oddcitrus.wordpress.com.