Veronica Golos

Issue #
April 29, 2020

The Year of Rain

Mud breaks open in the rain
and suckles, a sound
of monsoon; sighs rivulet down the drain.

I am someone--even if a cheat.
A spinning doll dancer in a music box,
bit between my teeth.

I fly. I shed my skin
my flashy thigh, my cathedral ribs--
sip whiskey, dive into the din.

Around me the red sun smears
the fields; they burn phosphorescent.
There's a girl in tears as she learns

the footstep upon the stair
her fingerprint against the air.

Previously published in Girl
(3: A Taos Press 2019)

There is no previous item
Go back to Top Menu
There is no next item
Go back to Top Menu
A Journal of International Poetry
All content is the property of the individual authors and artists

Site designed by SpicerDigital - Dixon, New Mexico