LOOM OF THE LAND
By Chris Kelso
A burning hot yield
A raging pink poinsettia
Of raw oppression
That’s what she’ll be
All scotch tape and wrinkles
Vodka in her cup
She somehow knew that this would work.
She just knew, as if the knowledge had been gifted to her
In some hypermnesic dream.
It was confident and red behind her eyes
Pull off a few reels of the tape
Place a band of it over a wrinkled left cheek.
It didn’t work – big surprise.
People never cry there.
I’m glad she didn’t have to cry
But she used to love the rain