by Jahnavi Delmonico





My imagination furnishes

The plastic stroke on iron hair

In the mornings

Tying knots alone

Smoke styling a bracelet for each wrist;

Now painting the bathroom Lyndhurst Celestial Blue

Dripping fingers noxious and smooth
Painting  the bags of your eyes

Almost to match
The skin of your face

Hanging there like wisdom




ridiculous gait of a clown-bowling pin

teetering on the edge of

thinking something really nasty

solid beacon of irreal goof

calmly with the smudgy children

wearing down to dull edges

shoes and sharp ideas

it’s as if

the clean logic of sadness

never occurred to you,

making offerings to life and taste

of all your unintelligible admiration



You showed me he’d written you a love poem

laughing and embarrassed, proud, derisive

the way he liked your tiny neck

miniscule feet

and everyone knows

the brown as if purple eyes


I think about

how you used to misspelled aisle,

(until someone must’ve corrected you

because I never would)

as though our own aisle 42,

with the leather gloves, tool boxes, sawhorses lankily grazing

were a stretch of sunny ocean sand

where you and I are sisters




dollop of mother-candy

round, industrious

send away the bashful dirt

sail home in a hard boat of pain like masts shattering

on waves as loving as a husband

and the two of you unwrap chocolate bars together

sitting in bed




tangled composition

of virile walking

and soft baby confusion

just as clever as a blade

of grass bending with a dewdrop load

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