Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-two
Winter 2016
 
Land of Amber Sky
Christina Seymour

These are facts: Gracie trails her ears through dandelions and ends up with white wisps on her eyelids.

I think, for that, she deserves the name Andromeda, the potential for gold in the ordinary.

As I try to take a picture, she grabs the decomposed rabbit foot she’s had on her mind for days.

Sometimes, the key to believing your worth is letting truth in.

It will be the right time, I think, considering whether or not I will accept love.

He has been here all along, saying it. I have been faithless out of self-protection.

Searching for connection is like clearing away litter from Central Park’s Imagine mosaic;

picking a used toothpick or shard of glass off of a black-and-white rainbow.

Maybe the gods-of-me say, she’s responding well to thunder one day and she needs less the next.

It’s important to watch the season change: fat birds pick at all the new buds, sending their faces to the sun.

About Christina Seymour

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