By: Katherine Shaw
Charging Bull
Red flags flash to ‘rouse
a charging bull to follow
by vanilla scent, then slumbered slip
and forget confection death tomorrow
Regardless a signal’s truth temptation
must be kindled to caramelize
for bulls chase blush not
White flags of idle crystalline
Tin Boxes
in her youth
my mother made turquoise rings
adorned herself with possibility
breath beauty
social lubricants and conformity
but life outgrows initial measurements
and delicate bands break
how could she combat a
thirst not satisfied by clinking bottles
her turquoise retires after
swollen fingers pregnancy
a child never planned
but breathed anyway
there’s an idea that children give hope
a bad joke perhaps
in my childhood
she bought herself a ruby ring
her birthstone
adorned me with a promise of her longevity
but life outgrew initial measurements
and I’ve inherited
broken bottles ashes and a tin box
A Silent Agreement
I will wash dishes
Laid too long
Sink water, grayed
Flooding house breeze with rot
Depression climbs to a scent
The cabinet doors closed with the wrong kind of silence
The pristine plates somehow offended
She didn’t consider the proximity of my skin
To the shards of glass, ricochet
Fewer dishes to wash, my gift
I deliver the rent
Ride my bike
Twelve is old enough
Handling hundreds, don’t get jumped
Our landlord appeased, amen
The deafening music barks throughout the night
That’s how I know our electricity bill is paid
She demands a volume that shakes the walls
Never mind tomorrow is a school day
There are demons to drown
I don’t complain
Greener grasses never seen
Daughters are caretakers
A silent partner in disorder
Who gave birth, me or you?
The syllables crawl out from beneath the liver
The last utterance from a barely conscious mother
“I don’t remember you”
We divide, are severed, a maternal divorcing
A silence not of my making
Katherine Shaw is a comedy writer for The Syndrome Mag, and her poetry has been featured in Clamor Literary Arts Journal. Her work has also been featured in FIVE 2 ONE magazine. Katherine resides in Portland, OR, and does her part in keeping it weird.
(The format of these poems may be skewed on mobile---read these poems on a desktop to see the work as the author intended)
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