by Anita Olivia Koester
Kingfisher feathers, molars,
the polished eyes of dolls, kiss marks
from a hundred vintage postcards,
comb with broken tooth.
So much destruction
of small things: mundane glances,
The suspended walnut
is surrounded by the ribcage
of a rodent, and aren’t all hearts
a boat adrift in temperamental seas.
I am afraid of how small
it all is–– a single thread
through a handful of stars.
Milk glass, the seductive outline
of water-bearers, emersion of abalones
in indigo ink. Perhaps, it’s time
to just say it: I want a child
not a wax doll tucked beneath
a paper moon in my shadow box
where a woodpecker pecks
against a diamond, if you wind it up.
Anita Olivia Koester is a Chicago poet and author of four chapbooks including Marco Polo (Hermeneutic Chaos Press), Arrow Songs which won Paper Nautilus’ Vella Chapbook Contest, and Apples or Pomegranates forthcoming with Porkbelly Press. Her poems have been nominated for Best New Poets and Pushcart Prizes, and won So to Speak’s Annual Poetry Contest, Midwestern Gothic’s Lake Prize in Poetry, the Jo-Anne Hirshfield Memorial Poetry Award and others. She is currently the managing editor of Duende. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in CALYX Journal, Tahoma Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Phoebe Journal and elsewhere. Her work as been supported by the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, Vermont Studio Center, and PLAYA. Visit her online at- www.anitaoliviakoester.com