elegy, the first word for morning
here is the first agonizing crinkle in paper pillow
like a storm fly whipping in the wind or a finger
nail dragging across dry wood. in summer the river
is painfully shallow; we scrape across it here we linger
like fruit flies on tomatoes cut two days ago.
and here is the first orange juice stain around your mouth
which cannot be scrubbed off with water. truth
is I’ve been waiting like a goose to head past the border south
for the winter. it’s not running away more stumbling over
“caution: wet floor” signs in a panic. cradle is a word
I know too well now. here is the place we pile bloody sword
after sword. I’m eating fistfuls of clover: here is the lord,
a whisper, a shadow, a stain.
Katherine DeCoste is a student/writer in Edmonton, Alberta, where she is working towards a BA Combined Honors in English and History. Likes: dolphins, the colour pink, cello. Dislikes: whales, the colour orange, contrabass. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Moonchild Mag, Barren Magazine, Rag Queen Periodical, and others. She tweets @katydecoste, and her website is katherinedecoste.wordpress.com.