The Miscellany has another series of poems to share with its readers, this time a collection by sophomore Katrin Ree. Katrin has generously given us three poems to publish–check them out below!
In your bed, you folded me
into your body, your chest
against my back, your chin on
my shoulder. Your arm wrapped
around my middle, your heart
beating against me, your breaths
in my ear. You held me tight
as you slept. The next day,
you sent me a message.
You think we should just be friends.
You claim you were confused.
Okay, I say.
It’s Monday morning and I spill coffee
down the front of my blouse as the L
pulls into Clarke & Lake. The stranger
next to me chuckles knowingly. “Monday
morning,” he says. I glance up at him
and I see your eyes. I used to tell you
that it was like gazing into two
kaleidoscopes, bits of blue
flecked with green and hazel.
I exit the L. Eight blocks
to work and I’m leaking
rejection. I wrap my arms around
my chest, flatten my breasts
into my body, and wait for the clack
of high-heels to stop ringing
in my ears.
Morning sun twists the sky
lavender, fuchsia, robin’s egg blue.
There’s our bird feeder framed
by the kitchen window, and
that’s my little girl watching it
from the kitchen table, soggy
cereal in front of her, fragments
of morning falling away. “It’s a
morning dove!” she exclaims.
It’s actually a mourning dove.
But I don’t want to tell her that.
The Moon’s golden honey hair drips,
liquid strands spilling into black night,
flowing towards Earth. Darkness
captures little droplets and carries
them away. They crystallize
into bright burning stars.
A woman enters the darkness,
honey spilling above her head.
The grass tickles her toes
and she stretches out her arms
to measure the night.
It’s her favorite time
when the Moon is completely full.
She presses her eyelids together, tips her head up
and tries to feel the moonglow warm her face. Darkness
brushes up against her lips and she stretches out
her tongue to lick the night. For a moment,
she thinks she tastes sweet star fizz.
But then, it’s lost.
She thinks she imagined it.
She opens her eyes to the honeyed darkness
and imagines the Moon’s warm face gazing
down at her. She tells the Moon all
her secrets through the whishing wind.