Two Poems | by Carrie Laski


came home early to throw up the mice in my stomach
and wash the hairs down the sink
I’m not what you thought I would be
I’m not
the same in the half-dark
lighting fires at the Narva Gate
stuffing diamonds into my bodice
for protection
it’s so fucking nice outside and still
there are splinters in my veins
carnivorous blooms
stare me down while I wait
so patient it scares me
wicked sorry
I’ve turned you into a mythical creature
sun sign of december
hope you’re
doing ok




moth circling around a false chandelier

and drenched in sun
colors of the afternoon only we knew about
fingers on fingers
pull me apart
suck out the best parts
discard the shell
leave me
at the mercy of the sky
pink and gray and hungry
I’m soft
I can be swallowed with ease
I can be convinced
that this is ok
that the serpents will stay lying in the mud
until summer
when they will dry up
and grow wicked flowers for people to step on
while they wait for the bus




Carrie Laski lives in Texas for the time being. Her work has appeared in Peach Mag, Maudlin House, Spy Kids Review, tenderness yea, Philosophical Idiot, and The Pendulum. She will do Sum 41 at karaoke any chance she gets.

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