Bookends
By Lian Kirit Limperis
AT BRUNCH
green eyes over his orange juice, little birds aflame
CITY
the stoplights are parrots
RAINY DAYS
i'm indoors, building little nests with the tips of my fingers
INSIDE A POMEGRANATE
six hundred swollen little lungs
MISTAKES
I'm folding them into swans to lay
on the window ledge
HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT
the mice tip-toe in their feet pajamas
BOOKENDS
shoulder blades on a shelf
DEATH
hands in a white lake,
someone in the mirror with her back turned.