by Avery Smith

Butte where bruises have collected,
dapple of livid pools: the
morphed reflections of slim hairs,
stunted and bristle-like, reborn
from razor blade encounters
and being thrust off bikes,
half-healed surfaces
thrown down now into pasture,
mess of hay and grasses
where the knees and horses
graze. Femur, patella, tibia,
hinges a chorus lifting me, cracking,
from fields where I laid
star-drunk, commissures collapsed–
they wobble crooked in the dim light
like the great bald heads of men,
inclined towards one another warily,
afraid to be so close, their scars
so visible.

Avery Smith is from Cincinnati, Ohio. She is currently studying at Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana, expanding her knowledge of and love for words and new places.

Back to Issue Ten: Winter 2011