This is a small house.
The deer barely fits.
Everything’s going
to be ok. The piano
has no keys, but the deer
still plays. Songs
about a doe
in a small house
under the influence of light.
Outside, neighbors
gather to hear
her heart’s gold
note. Someone
is knocking at the door.
Cradling cellos
in our sleep
we watch a regatta
break like glass birds
into pieces I am
at my narrowest
and drooling a puddle
of old lost socks
under us
I am circumventing
the bed
for you and the lake
at night seem to agree
to solitude
and all its broken
moons we urge
revenge on our own
slanted histories and murmurs
pillow case after
pillow case
Curtis Perdue was born and raised in Miami, FL. His poems have appeared in H_NGM_N, Ghost Town, NOO Journal, LEVELER, Willow Springs and a few others. Currently he lives in Delray Beach where he teaches high school English and edits the online journal Interrupture.