August 3, 2011

JP Reese


I’ve sipped for days to slake a thirst
I never thought I’d have again.

Each day I wake as currents thrum
through blood and flesh, untempered heart.

I banish flame—swallow the truth,
dispatch it to a southern sky,

and still my longing burns your likeness
in his dark and watchful eyes.


Remove the silver slippers and slip them in a pocket safe from sin.
Your slip slides against silken skin as you climb the slippery stairs
of the child's slide to slide down until your toes touch tawny sand.
Slip between the swings and sunset surf to take another sip of gin.
Try to fill the hollow space inside your chest that harbors hidden grief.
A lie slid off your tongue to leave you single, standing solo here below
the slanted sun. A sweet and slippery stranger slides aside your slip
with hands so soft you barely even notice you are lost.


JP Reese teaches English at a small college in Texas. Her writing has appeared in Thunderclap, Connotation Press, The Smoking Poet, Eclectic Flash, Used Furniture Review, Blue Fifth Review, Gloom Cupboard, Corium Magazine and other fine places. She is a poetry editor for THIS Literary Magazine.

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