3 Poems by Kristine Brown [Poetry]

Relativity

The lights burn out
and glass spins—
tea-crusted rim
you run a dry
thumb over,
pull your hand back
in shock—the scorch.

Sympathize in blues,
the slightest purple
on your good days,
when alarm clocks
leave their worries
beneath a sinking bed,
soft in places you’ve asked.

Walk the street,
letting shaky blades
graze, gawk at ankles
too scaly for cheap
mail-outs, smeared red
as crust on the skin
assembled by freed ants.

Count the flags,
embassies waiting
for those with needs
unlike yours, ringing
without consequence
against the walls of cups
breaking, unlike patience.

 

hypnotics

halogen bulbs
hang low, at the ear.
swinging, taunting.
this aluminum rhythm
lulling you to sleep,
however cautious.

paper unicorns,
round and round.
counterclockwise,
gray and meek.
glistening like a soap bar
after July’s rain.

the burn of reliance
comes to a dim
and shadow puppets relish
the truth of an unpainted wall.
to collide, and disperse
in awesome form.

 

Speedy Fondness

I felt your teeth all at once
advise me to hush, space
between bodice and vexed
jawline somehow expanding
unlike static cups on clean
windowsills, coffee creamer
cradling chips of lost nights.

the walls are kinder, less flat
and I question the girl who
knocked on my door not too
long ago with a can opener
despite the well-known fact
that I loathe vegetable soup.

she said I was being too hard
on myself, throwing my skirts
in the trash just because we
laughed too much in the faces
of cheap glass too jaded to try
and grapple with sweet truths.

I would go insane without her
reminder that oldness is not a
word yet worthy of whispering
until I could say I tasted what
comforts saltine crackers host
in the company of melted brie.

you looked at me, and I fought
the urge to call her up and say
that your hair was messy, feet
concealed in some bright wool
not disposable like a thin skirt
despite grays from a hot floor.

no ambulance came, the cars
quietly saying “hello” as we shut
our eyes that smiled as wide as
business allowed when wallets
are tucked all still and calm, and
I realized that I was sore due to
a damn good run so forgotten.

 

By Kristine Brown

  • On the weekends, Kristine Brown frequently wanders through historic neighborhoods, saying “Hello” to most any cat she encounters. Some of these cats are found on her blog, Crumpled Paper Cranes (https://crumpledpapercranes.com). Her creative work can be found in HobartQueen Mob’s Teahouse, Burningword Literary Journal, Sea Foam MagPhilosophical IdiotThought Catalog, among others. A collection of flash prose and poetryScraped Knees, was released in 2017 by Ugly Sapling. You can also find Kristine over on Twitter: @dandyflight
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