Kristy Bowen


Either way, I was right when I said the heart
was a Chinese kite, a busted radio. The underwater

lovers never quite get where they were going.
All the buttons fall from my blouse, scatter,

and become points on a map. No matter
what we take with us, we leave it on subway

seats and park benches: the red umbrella, or
this nest with its tiny blue eggs.

Yesterday, I pulled three spiders the size
of quarters from my hair. I fear I'm beginning

to loosen my bones back into the landscape.
Soon I'll be nothing but a ribcage

filled with a half dozen sparrows.

Kristy Bowen is the editor of Wicked Alice. She lives in Chicago.

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