|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|Letter in this Wind
Dear redhaired children
who pant when they learn new vocabulary words
and someday will work in peep shows
and eat raw eggs a morning later,
but it’s a little while ’til then:
This is ghost migration season,
and I am learning to stand on my toes
like the ballerinas. The cat told me
to watch out for dreams of chasing things,
so I go to sleep with an anchor tied to my foot.
At the carnival by the pier, the tide is coming
in. Soon the pictures of the bearded lady and the strong man
will be greenish and waver. The tattooed girl
will get gills inked on her throat.
Better that than drowning.
It’s September, children,
and the world is making wishes on you
like eyelashes. This is transistor-set season.
Season for dreams of kidnappings. I am learning
to sleep through the iron on my ankles.
We are ripe for the plunge.
About Sara Lier