Sister, it’s flooding sunshine. Days drop

like caramels. I turned my back

on you, the hunted dogs

of our girlhood. Here’s the devil

coming from my palm, the mad

raisins and relished dirt. I’m in

the open, the cream soda bad.

Is rubber your only feeling?

Wooded and measured out, you

stomach the untried, the vanilla

pudding that won’t feed you.

Why did you take orders?

A cube of hesitations,

the learned magic won’t leave us.

 

by Kimberly Lambright

 

Kimberly Lambright’s debut poetry collection, Ultra-Cabin, won the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award and was published in 2016. Lambright has been awarded fellowships to the MacDowell Colony and Sou’wester Arts Colony; her work appears in Columbia Poetry Review, phoebe, ZYZZYVA, Sink Review, Bone Bouquet, The Boiler, Wicked Alice, Big Bridge, Little Patuxent Review, Texas Poetry Calendar, Not Very Quiet, and The Burnside Review. She lives in Brooklyn.

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