1.

I creep
             toward you—
             loud as a jaded Italian quartara,
             moonlit and brash.

In the celestial, I will die and you will
forgive for decades shrouded in the dizziness of our magic.

 

2.

In spring, you are a grey house—
disinterested, thin as a sharp animal.
You never had a chance to live
voluptuous.
I can’t remember the last
  time
you pressed your barnacled sternum
to my chest                      to confess—
a secret that’s mostly clean.
You need a voice to adjust the ether
of incessant stinging—
hard roots and longing.
                                                        Love
brings not a few fractures.
Today, I open the windows
to new guests awaiting spring.

 

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Kendall graduated from the University of Tampa’s Creative Writing M.F.A. program and currently teaches writing at Florida International University in Miami. Her recent poetry can be found in Anti Heroin Chic, Zvona i Nari, Bad Pony, Window and Driftwood Press as well as in Florida’s Best Emerging Poets, a collection published by Z Publishing House.

She can be contacted via email at: emailkendallnow@gmail.com or through her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/kendallhoeftpoet.