Thursday, June 25, 2015

Poems I Admire #7


The Extra Blanket at the End of the Bed Speaks
Leigh Anne Hornfeldt


For years I was in love with a geometric
comforter. I spent entire days solving

the algebra of her pattern, counting
her coordinates. Now there's a kaleidoscope quilt.

She makes me dizzy. Mornings I slump
near the footboard, waiting to be folded

or spread, listening for humble sounds
of routine in the kitchen. I'm sick of feet.

Kicking, nestling. I dread the padding
of the cat's paws down the hall,

his indulgent naps and 20 minute baths.
Being ornamental is awful.

I squander afternoons envying
the curtains. I win another staring match

against the ceiling fan. Sometimes
I let myself remember the weekend spent

in the trunk of the car. Absorbing exhaust.
Fantasizing over picnics and breadcrumbs.

It rained instead and on Monday
I was tossed to the laundry room floor.

The dryer is the worst. Out of spite I gorge
on socks and strangle pant legs, roll my edges

to gather more lint. I'd come undone
but needle and thread terrify me. At night

the quiet argument. The heat and spill of sex.
I archive intimacy, stay flat as I can

and when they sleep I listen to a tide
of breathing. I've never heard an ocean.

Sometimes they hang me on a line.
I snap in the wind. Avoid bird shit. 

My hem barely reaches the white tops
of dandelions in the yard. In the distance

a cell phone tower blinks like a lighthouse.
I pretend I'm the sea.


First appeared in Off the Coast.


Leigh Anne Hornfeldt, a Kentucky native, is the author of East Main Aviary & The Intimacy Archive and the editor at Two of Cups Press. In 2013 she was the recipient of a grant from the Kentucky Foundation for Women and her poem “Laika” placed 2nd in the Argos Prize competition (Dorianne Laux, judge). In 2012 she received the Kudzu Prize in Poetry. Her work has appeared in journals such as Spry, Lunch Ticket, Foundling Review, and The Journal of Kentucky Studies.      


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