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.