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sitting sideways askew
on a slick porcelain sink a precarious slope, equation still unknown, delayed detection her enceinte mother paces seconds between hope and question waiting for me to draw parallel lines waiting for her to be or not be |
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white walls white washed
within reach of sticky palms still small like paws, clasping on clapping out crayon dreams crawling along unmarked seems scrawling behind illegible lines mother sees pollock in her plaything hasn’t the heart to swipe her streaks clean |
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who pines between lines
hugged by skin self bound sheets of laced space where she learned to sound out half-spelled words from her half-shaped heart for half-made men who couldn’t say her yet, even if she tried speaking then |
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why she looked up up
riding along night’s face at friends' crack necked pace pressed close at every turn against the dim gleam of my reflection she wished stars staring my direction wondering who i/who she might be someday wondering when we/where we might meet someway |
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her empty cells that flake and freckle
filled full to speak sunken ink where her naked heart meets her naked sleeve ready for her next moral emblem ready for her next branded anthem waiting for her to finish writing me waiting for her to finish writing her |
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Jenny Keto is a poet actress, born and raised in Austin, Texas. Currently studying to become a psychiatric nurse, many of her poems grapple with the intractable psyche and can be found online at wards, Broken City, and Visitant. Jenny thinks quite a lot about anything and nothing at all.
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