This is madness she says & we should go camping in it. He traces the outline of her bra strap as if it were a map. Let’s go anywhere lonely & suffering & green, which is a simple coordinate for her & he knows it. He knows she’s never loved anything this red before. Not the red inside always mistaking itself for white, but a harvest she circles her teeth around. There is no white or wrong. Not in this nonsense. He is just a jungle cat slinking through the curtains saying How about we take out a mortgage & sleep in the same room for the rest of our lives. To which she’s only a ball of yarn that moans January January January.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 1.
Danielle Mitchell is winner of the 2015 Editor’s Prize from Mary and a recipient of the Editor’s Choice Award from The Mas Tequila Review. Danielle lives in Long Beach, California where she is director of The Poetry Lab. Catch up with her at poetryofdanielle.com.
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