Poetry Issue 9

   Issue # 9: January-June 2008

Kristine Domingo



One kind word


      Woke up from a pair of scissors. In a book of meanings,
      means estrangement. Must’ve asked into a cupboard, haven’t you
      and I been torn apart in every manner imagined?

      Women on their break who never say "ironic" find a sport
      in the thin girl at reception, her gut the size of her head.
      One serves, "What was her nod for when she hasn’t a relationship?"

      Your silence tonight over my upside-down is the one
      kind word at that table: "Maybe her last man wasn’t a nightmare".
      How I wish to respond at times, we make love not to dream.