Hat in Hand
Laine Derr
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She worries about my skin.
The sun marks you, my dear,
changes days into gully years
porous as poems, apian
drones beheaded by kin
who forget idle death is near,
a garden of miniature flowers
left to rot, borne paper-thin.
Your flesh is a broken lock,
my dear, bones tossed, tiles
shimmering light and decay.
Placing her love in a locket,
cairns neatly stacked, I smile,
hat in hand, knowing the way.
Flash Issue 9
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 Antithesis, ZYZZYVA, Portland Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere.
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