Poetry Issue 13

   Issue # 13 : July - December 2010

Elizabeth Willis



Friday


      Coming to you
      from a jumbled dream

      My heart caves in
      the better to see you with

      I’m thinking on the bright side
      while looking for my keys

      I’ve never seen a body
      floating to the ceiling

      in the big room
      of the post office

      A word is a symptom
      of what can’t be described

      A promise, a premise
      held open like a door

      So I didn’t find mercy
      or it didn't find me

      It’s always personal
      like the failure of a knee

      A brassy rebuttal
      clowning in the street

      Your footprint on the planet
      pinned down by outer space






      (Originally appeared in Chicago Review and used by permission of the author.)