When I was a child I was pixie dust.  

That’s only part of the story.  

The other parts are the boys from New England.  

How they put their mouths to my neck,
a river on the moon.  

I stayed there a long time.  

One of my stems grew wise,  

another urgent. The strands that stayed small
remain as my dwarf head  

howling when the strange red sun falls behind the sycamore.  

 

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Sara Kearns is the author of the chapbook, Incisor, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. She has been a runner-up for the Stan and Tom Wick Poetry Prize, and was a finalist for the New Issues First Book Award and Boulevard’s Emerging Poet Contest. Her work has been most recently published online in DMQ Review and Rogue Agent. She lives and teaches in Pittsburgh.

 

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