Kathy Fagan – Amphorae

photo credit: plassen


Kathy Fagan

I bent to kiss her head
that smelled of coin
collection box in rain,
the kiss of my mouth the rain,
her head an iron grate once

cradling fire. You see I was desperate
for meaning then, susceptible to suggestions
for escape, like thought bubbles
with birds inside them, a spatial disorientation of skin

sensors and the inner ear, capsules burning through
interstate 80 in any rainstorm, hamsters in wheels,

their singular purpose the freedom
they were not bred for.