Leatha Kendrick
Photo: slingshots+meo remalante
A day at home, no big news. Alone,
with CNN and tea, stiff bones
of the Christmas tree, ravenous
for unsweet things. After the gush
of singing, unsought treats
and gifts, it’s time to pay. A rush
to Returns’ endless line. A fine
for late-mailed, past-due bills. It’s back
to ordinary time, days of sunshine
Leatha Kendrick
Photo: rolands.lakis
This boy sleeps on my lap,
his fists curled and pink
as April oak leaves. His feet
root against my arm. His
head a soft arc against
my bent arm. When I reach
across his belly’s curve,
my arm brown-spotted, pale,
his breath unfurls
a scream. I am
the rotting log
he grows upon.
Leatha Kendrick
Photo: koalazymonkey
Remember the milk (2%
of the time I forget.) Remember
that Brown Swiss calf we brought
home in the back seat of Daddy’s old
gray Dodge?
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