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blueberry pie & four others by Krissy Begeske | Micro-poetry | #thesideshow

May 21, 2017
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blueberry pie

my mother
files her nails at the kitchen table
and i watch her i hear her
wishing the ka-scratch-a could be in time rather than

her off-beat her syncopated rhythm
please mom can you learn triplets
i look at her hands and wonder when
did they get so old
i look at my hands
they are hers

 

 

all-nighter

i saw the sun as it rose, the
fire breathing sky bauble
sustaining my body heat
i praised and prayed
but when i looked
straight at the morning god
it was just a streetlight
painted against a still dark sky

 

 

picking you out of my teeth

you are a fig
heady, and i think mediterranean?
and possibly with hundreds of
little tiny seeds
littered throughout your insides?
thousands?

 

 

to all my one-night stands

sorry not sorry for the way my

hair sticks to your bedsheets

and my scent lives in your pillows

i simply want you to remember me

in pieces of dead skin and

drunken half-memories

of who i said i was

whoever she is

 

 

kiss me like fire

i wrote a romance
i wrote our romance and sent it up
to the sky
tied to a bottle rocket
i hope it burns
i’ll send more attached to the mortar

shells on the fourth of july
and they will become part of the stars
a constellation of you and me and every time i felt your lips
ready to be tracked on star maps
until they burn bright and burst into black holes

 


About the Author

Krissy Begeske lives around Chicago, IL and is receiving her BA in Creative Writing at DePaul University. She makes a habit of calling people at four in the morning and spouting off poems in their voicemail inbox.