shot
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I’m the wet actor
on the cold stage of this November play of daylight waning and they haven’t run the shot yet and no hot water bottles under the ladies’ gowns can stop our shivering. Our lines change with every inch of water crawling up the steel skin of this tank but plot is useless down here in gulps of spray off the fake ship’s prow. Was that tactical or was that strategic? That was political. Like any stupid war zone all it is to the people in it is a mess. The storm is inevitable they say, the storm is coming this way, so let’s get the best shot. |
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kiss
It’s true, we rue.
You tore yourself
apart for us and we
loved to watch you
do it. We loved to
watch you crack
your hips like a whip,
toss yourself skyward
seeding thunder
to the clouds.
It’s the brain
that feels the pain.
It’s the body
that delivers it.
You tore yourself
apart for us and we
loved to watch you
do it. We loved to
watch you crack
your hips like a whip,
toss yourself skyward
seeding thunder
to the clouds.
It’s the brain
that feels the pain.
It’s the body
that delivers it.
Lisa Olstein is the author of four books of poetry, most recently, Late Empire (Copper Canyon Press, 2017). She teaches in the New Writers Project and Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin.