| Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-eight Spring 2012 |
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| Letter in this Wind Sara Lier 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. |
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