Spring 2007 Issue

"Amorphous" by Tori Wynne

Blush blotches stain beneath pearl necklaces

As insight slides to the right side

Three chords sound strongly of

An already rusty rendition, age old

Favorite street light symphony played

In an obscure key

A teaspoon of blood

Still warm and taken carelessly

From a thumbprint pressed against

A clever wind of change

Spreads across her chest and settles

A little to the left

The body pales when held to the light,

Translucent and lovely, brightness glides

Through skin stretched over flexing muscles

And tears easily on swords that accelerate pulse

Beautifully sharpened broken glass from

Window panes in the house where she grew up

A jaw that sets like stone while sleeping

And bones that crack and broaden tensely because

She wears her feelings slightly off the shoulder

And she’s slightly off center when it comes to

Matters of minding manners and holding

Her tongue that parts illicitly loving lips

He looks through her like stained glass

And her eyes turn darkstorm-brewing,

A winter’s sky at midnight

She sinks deep into sheets soft

And pink like the scars

On the backs of her knees

Warmth makes her a little less exacting

Than the known necessity of lives past

She’ll turn slowly to see a white dress

Drifting downstream, her mother’s perhaps

And Atlantic’s deepest waters drench the satin

That she rests her head on at night