Cosmos                                                                                                                 —Carolyn Williams-Noren


They were blooming by the fence.

Two shades of pink—
one storm, one sea,
both with yellow centers

and petals wrinkled from
their bud life.

I placed them short-stemmed in a glass.
Underwater, petals
hold up.

            They turn the water into glass.

It’s raining, gutter spatter and tree drip
and waves of rain.

In the distance, a car alarm. The dishwasher
churning away and

everyone must be upstairs. It’s been quiet
at this table for a long time.

 


My Thumb Instead of a Grapefruit


Winter: blade sharper than ever,
sun in palm,

board solid as always.
The cut a high, electric sing—

little door to the red world. Little door
to the land where it ends.

Snow, and a mansion
built of hula hoops and plywood.

Walls warm, my children
not lost at all. Sea

of time. Fruit

brought from far—
into this house, ten to a bag.

And now a door
to let in the sting.

 

Carolyn Williams-Noren

Carolyn Williams-Noren writes, edits, and teaches in Minneapolis. Her chapbook, Small Like a Tooth, is available from Dancing Girl Press. 

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2018