Lucy Anderton
The chain in my bowl is a twinkling nest of hearts.
The chain in my bowl is a twinkling nest of hearts.
I've always worn the ghost strands of eggs at my throat.
I've always worn the ghost strands of eggs at my throat.
My always ghost is twinkling
at the bowl of eggs. The strands
of hearts I've worn? A chain
nest in my throat.
It took wax feet to melt me to your door.
It took wax feet to melt me to your door.
The wind, as they say, was a knife: your words were worse.
The wind, as they say, was a knife: your words were worse.
Say door?
It was your feet.
They took your wind
to melt me. Wax
words to a knife: as the worse were.
As the knife was twinkling your ghost
took eggs to the wind. I've worn worse
in my wax, say a bowl of words: they melt
to strands. My door is always the nest,
me, a chain: the throat of Were at your feet.
Lucy Anderton is the 2005-2006
writer-in-residence for the Virginia Center of
the Creative Arts in Auvillar, France.
Her work has appeared in The Iowa Review,
American Letters and Commentary and
AGNI Online, amongst others.
Visit her website at www.LucyAnderton.com.