In an Alley
Sunk low in a black seat,
high and heavy just beside the coast
of glass and fabric.
biding time post-mass and
Yellow globe in a blue-black sky,
smiles, sees small crimes and
Giddy on Fire
Giddy’s stuck before the fire—
slow burning, edging forward
Reds and yellows splice,
crash like winter nights,
ice and cotton all melted together
in Monday’s spoon.
Until his head in her lap
is bright white and burns.
Stiff against garage door,
blue eyes red, blurring,
until he’s in flames and gone
until she’s holding unanswered smoke.
In fat fumes Friday night barns become
weekends wasted in dark basements,
on a filthy black futon,
the first hospital stay.
Sometimes it shines.
Blushing introductions and black jeans,
sweaty hands, bad teeth.
It melts with the black plastic
of matching bracelets
huddled on haystacks cursing curfews,
singing punk kid poems to no one.
It burns, but after,
Giddy remembers when she was giddy,
when she was she in spite of Disaster.
When the sky was partly cloudy,
but mostly blue and
the only sounds were
bass drum heartbeats, things in bloom.
Now it’s all gray and white and she questions clouds on the highway.
She waits for water or wind, but
at 9 am pale planes appear,
leave white scars on smooth skin,
slash the sun and begin again
and she slides back.
Puffed white piles on a coffee table.
She’d sit like ice and watch it disappear.
Now, Giddy smells summer charcoal and winter ash.
She sits by the fire and hums on about burning
and other fictions of survival.
Giddy sits in the arms of Disaster,
but he doesn’t hold her back.
Kristina M. Sarhadi is the editorial director of Blak Licorice. Her work has appeared in literary journals throughout the US and UK. She holds a B.A. from Vassar College, an MSW from USC and several other acronyms.