m a r a    v a h r a t i a n

 

Her tottering told...

Alight a rooftop...









































Her tottering told...

 

Her tottering told, the blender going I make my own thanks. Boil them jars. If he is a nightjar on the prairie she is learning hideaways, breath gives her away. Violet kissing comfits like mine, lent a while before the days patchwork her out, gingham or linen each a wrong estimation—sure didn't shotgun, though pliant. Swaggers, he got me some flowers thinks he got me good when it's just cussed bearings to back, tie down that rucksack a body won't be but stepping, percussive and keeping to itself. Be glad to see you later, kind sideburns for all suites a vacancy, verandas. Trammed a suspension bridge, sleepless, you can abide by a barrister so long before conspiring; hatcheting away from breakers until he got me held, contemptuous gall. To all sides say peninsula now thatís what Iím talking thatís what from. Pout and pull, wonít be so, tell me a bay-window and the thing I canít help, red knot-like, our rare little lieabout. Her own best backflip, the tsk of eyeteeth boring clean out your back and yield—handsomer each year.

 

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Alight a rooftop...

 

Alight a rooftop, we got snow at the end of May we got a party line, chimenea. The drawbridge and let-down seem so neighborly and keep us to each other, no limit is or one minus one—whoís been sitting pretty, remembered by gardening-pad or another Noraís little accent and eyes in wet hedges. Coming around to a coin in your pocket, come pentatonic scales and harpsichords for a trousseau (he hid behind the radiator). Out windows on for Bisbeeís hot hotel balcony Iíd like to call it home itís something to lean to while sleeping. Tell me something I can put on every day, mined it down silver-silver and burnished against your beard, a beat and consider; eyes off the mark and half-thanking thinking bare feet or the things he didnít. Wore down garters to change out the hours; for in a long time couldnít fall asleep in this room then I could. Whose jimmy-legs grew him up like jimson weed. My spark arrestor, just bent apart this time so a gal has a good look up and up, knotty shoulders legs against and heís smiling a sung the sea, the sea of love. Across Nebraska driving a feeling off my hinges I believe you—thresh, promised mountain ranges, promised dinner soon and scattered birds, yellow soybean fields.

 

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MARA VAHRATIAN is from southeastern Michigan and lives in Tucson. Other poems from her manuscript-in-progress can be found in Coconut, Drunken Boat, EOAGH: A Journal of the Arts and are forthcoming in Spinning Jenny.


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