Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-six
Summer 2011
| Home | Issue Twenty-six | Contents | Contributors | Review | Order | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us | Previous | Next |
 
To the girl who made the leaves fall
Meghan Tutolo

It was March you fell in, big-eyed & arms close
to your body, I noticed first: your curled hair, pink face—
feet too small for your shoulders, gap
of one tooth missing far in the back
when you laughed.

I was stoned by May, waiting for you, the trees
to sprout new green, flashback scene:
14 & the same color of your eyes
I never met, never meant to forget—

Yet, itís those colors that stick riverbrown
to the eaves of my porch when I heard
two kids drowned in the mouth
of the Allegheny, sat up straight at

14 & the city circled, waited for the bodies
to bob up killed catfish, and this death
weíre feeding, hot into July – so many pages
you lined, so many Julys before me.

Sulfur faced, the sky rained out
August on your placemat, drawer of forks,
you said, Hey, donít go anywhere.
And I knew before they changed,

the leaves would hang by thinner necks, so that
when you smacked into September
they fell out of you, curling into me & this season,
where we wait near the bottom of your swimming pool.

About Meghan Tutolo

| Home | Issue Twenty-six | Contents | Contributors | Review | Order | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us | Previous | Next |