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.
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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. |
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