Beyond Breath
I’ve lost
these days
thinking
of things
not to do,
of people
not to love,
sun palms
shading
a boy
lost between
being
& non-
being,
slender
body just
beyond breath
like an ocean’s tide,
like a fish caught w/ fruit—
sweet-toothed rage, beaten to death.
If You Believe in Types
The type of men, swaying like apricot
mallow, who let a car slowly stagger
down a dead-end road. Sizing me up,
a worn Welcome mat underfoot—
We don’t reminisce.
We prefer the cops aren’t called.
Does anyone else live with you?
I admire them for what they don’t say,
pauses shaded by a cypress tree
drunk on pollen, golden breath clinging
to a girl running wild with reverie—
Can you feel my heart?
I can only reveal what is asked.
I live alone.
Laine Derr holds an MFA from Northern Arizona University and has published interviews with Carl Phillips, Ross Gay, Ted Kooser, and Robert Pinsky. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming from Chapter House, ZYZZYVA, Portland Review, Oxford Magazine, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere.
Header photo by Javier Calvo Parapar, courtesy Pixabay. Photo of Laine Derr by Alex Barnett.
