I am vexed by your orange persimmon and would like
to know you.
A terrible introduction. Ahem.
See that bicycle propped
against a lamp post? I am not
who you think. I might be
worse. Promises are a difficult thing. Pergolas
are better, and I can show you one if you’d like.
I am glad you’d like. I like
the sound of airplanes taking off nearby when I’m
in the car with the windows down.
I like the smell of petroleum, although I think
Will you tell me one strange thing
about your home town? Are you comfortable
with your feet?
It’s OK. We all put up decoys.
I’m not always a bicycle.
Yesterday, I employed a decoy moon.
I am trying not to
fancy-pants you. I am trying
to show you my very plainest pants.
Boot-cut jeans from Forever 21.
I still like to shop there, although I think
I would still like to know you, although I know you
are not always a persimmon and tomorrow
might be a microphone or something blue.
It’s everything we expected.
The intricate tangle,
all the faces
talking, lighting up, falling
into paper cups.
of the minotaur, his
I lead you into the sea
of faces and their mouths
become my mouth
and I lose you.
is smaller than I thought
and when I hold open my palm,
he nuzzles into it like a cat.
carefully to his thoughts:
we are wary of light, of the faces,
of quickly reasoned dreams.
Kit Frick is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at Syracuse University. Her poems have recently or will soon appear in places like PANK, CutBank, DIAGRAM, Conduit, and H_NGM_N, among others. Kit is currently Poetry Editor for Salt Hill and is an Associate Editor for Black Lawrence Press, where she edits the small press newsletter Sapling.