<i><b>Wicked Alice Poetry Journal
wicked alice| spring 2008

Elizabeth Bruno





Look, Sam, I canít tell you why. Things I thought
I knew have been raised up, caught in the tops of trees
like runaway kites. The world is a mess. Those vases

have grown moldy inside, a smelly sap tingeing
the glass in fits of green. Yes, Iím smoking too much.
Yes, the world is a feathered oyster robbed of its pearló

once swimming quietly in its own rainbow of light.


Last night, I didnít even hear you come to bed. It seems

youíve learned to tiptoe, or to glide your socks across

the wood floors in soft, sweeping motions.


And the world is a mess. The word ĎFatherí now rings

eerie, like a church bell tolling at odd hours, with no

one there to pull the rope.


The truth is, I watch the morning sun gather up dust

in its wake. The truth is, even the microscopic

can be seen with the right trick of light.




Elizabeth Bruno is a   graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside where she received a BA in English with a writing concentration. I live and work in Wisconsin . Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Stirring, Eclectica, Lily, The Potomac, Kaleidowhirl &Shakespeareís Monkey Review.