Polaroid                                                                                                             —Katie Schmid


I have a new haircut, a visiting haircut.
I have skin so pale I appear to glow
milk-white neon. I have a father.
He lifts me as if I am nothing.
He is the father of the old story: My father
is so strong he could. Muscles grow under
his skin like bulbs tensing to sprout.
Close-mouthed smile hiding his teeth,
wearing his blues, skin ruddied from hours
patrolling the perimeter of his cage.
 


Loving an Addict


Crows crowd the bones
of an oak

A disemboweled car
innard of battery smeared on the asphalt

The remnants of winter
creamed into a grey paste

I wait in an Olive Garden
off the highway

Winter’s art is fatigue unto death

And the smiling knife
of his voice as he lies
 

Katie Schmid

Katie Schmid has been published in Best New Poets and The Rumpus among other places. Her chapbook, Forget Me, Hit Me, Let Me Drink Great Quantities of Clear, Evil Liquor is available from Split Lip Press. She lives in Nebraska with her husband, the writer David Henson, and her daughter, Margot. 

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2017