Spewing up moths,
aching for butterflies.
Dancing in the muddy pits
of that river
where I cut my leg
the summer I turned
eight.
Honey in the pantry,
ravaged by my shaking hands.
Poor out your glory
upon my worn tongue!
I beg until my mouth
can only form a crack.
Sunlight opened.
I nodded toward
the onlookers
like I was dawn.
I pierce the howls of past worlds.
Ripping my teeth on wooden doors.
Behind them,
my old dressing gowns lie.
I think of everything.
The buttery moon catches fire
night drips into my skin.
I rest my heels on the warbler’s nest.
About the Poet
Kelli Lage lives in the Midwest countryside with her husband, and their dog, Cedar. Lage is currently earning her degree in Secondary English Education. Lage states she is here to give readers words that resonate.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
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