we left the ghost sobbing

head in her knees

       i placed the ring beside her

       a halo in dewy grass

 

at the river,

the tadpoles

       had grown fat and glistening

 

eddie threw some stuff in the river

       The prosaic details of my life

       he said

skipping one seven times       before it plunked

 

 

i opened a book

Jerome Rothenberg turned the river black and ate all the fish

       Bound to happen       said eddie

weaving cattails into a noose

 

i thought about my toothbrush

and the wet blue towel       i wear around the house

       i thought about eggs

       frying in butter

and the dotted lines i drew with Sharpie       from room to room to

       room

 

  

i was wrong about the noose—

       it was a crown      

 

Eddie had put it on my head

       and walked home

while i watched the clouds       glide over my fingernails

 

 

 

Jordan Soyka runs the New Orleans chapter of The Poetry Brothel. His work has been published in GlitterPony> kill authorSpork blog, Cave WallHorse Less ReviewTENDERLOINThe Quarterly Conversation  and La Petite Zine, as well as the Fuck Poems anthology (Lavender Ink).

Photo by Brute-ua, Creative Commons.

Filed under: Poetry

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