I imagine desire as a wishing well And myself lowering the bucket Down to deep waters stirring dark And cold. I want candlelight, Salt air on my tongue, a breeze Full of flowers. I want the pop Of a fire and socked feet finding Each other beneath bedsheets. I want bells and morning alarms, The first bite of dark chocolate, The raspberry smell of shampoo, And the heat of the sun. I imagine you beside me At the well, you tossing a coin In and listening for the plop, And the well bursting into A fountain, and us laughing In its cold rainbow spray, while Drops fall on our faces and wet Our lips with a taste divine.
Female Pastor Growing up, a female pastor meant a woman Who climbed the stage steps in heels, Who stood at the head of the sanctuary And dished out a few words, a few smiles, Before subsiding, like a fever, from the pulpit And back down the hall, even back down To the basement, to the children, with whom She celebrated, sang, made crafts, and crafted Metaphors for the Trinity which their professors Would someday stamp as benevolent heresy.
A Windfall A birthday card falls off the wall; Cold rain comes down sideways; This brain becomes an icy snowball. These days I startle at a footfall; My mind wears a wedding-cake glaze, But hears a birthday card fall off the wall. Bright panic descends with nightfall While outside cicadas sing praise And my brain becomes an icy snowball. I want to wash this skull with Lysol And write how much each wet lobe weighs— But a birthday card falls off the wall. So I set a timer and take time to scrawl Down each scattered, wobbling phrase While my brain becomes an icy snowball. I imagine an apple tree, a windfall, An evening sky that cups a red-orange blaze. A birthday card falls off the wall As this brain becomes an icy snowball.
Emily Dexter is an undergraduate student at Indiana Wesleyan University, where she studies English and writing. She enjoys writing poetry, short fiction, and the occasional novel. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in literary journals including Flora Fiction, the Oakland Arts Review, and Two Hawks Quarterly.
