3 Poems by Holly Day

Confessions to a Child Just Born

I went through my old poetry last night, thinking of you left behind in the hospital, tiny arms pinned down with IV needles, tiny feet scabbed and swollen from heelsticks and pulse monitors trying not to think of you, first a monster swelling in my stomach something I tried to kill with alcohol and cigarettes and failed herbal exorcisms plucked from New Age magazines to a soft twisting kitten keeping me awake with dreams of who and what you might be, praying always I hadn't hurt you too bad. Now I'm having to deal with an early separation after a day-and-a-half of forced labor too many drugs sitting in my bedroom among these piles of poetry destroying every piece I ever wrote that says I didn't love you


Dreams of the End

I had nothing to do with my ex-husband ending up at the bottom of the lake (we used to make out at) plastic bag secure around his head enough Valium in his system to tranquilize a bull rhino I had nothing to do with the bold streaks of red gouged flesh on his face (damned near lost a nail there) know nothing about the blond hairs in his fist smeared lipstick on his mud-soaked collar (tricked me into bed one more time) fading surprise in his eyes, mouth still a round "o" but I can't help but feeling a little bit safer now that he's dead


Pen Pal

I have walked through your burning dreams and I forgive you, seen children on fire, trapped beneath fallen timbers and I know the smell of burnt flesh and I forgive you. I have walked through silent houses seen unsuspecting sleepers through your scarlet blooming chrysanthemums and I forgive you your gasoline-scented fingers and trains of braided fuse. Tell me how it feels to be completely an element, to be a force of nature. Tell me how it feels to decide a man's death, how you pick the right houses to loose your fury on. Your letters bring me God. I will always be here for you, outside—write again soon.


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