atlas all over 

by Kristin M. Hatch, Ann Arbor

the sky in your palm,
it is milking:

i could a thousand count photographs between freckles
i could some graces find new

just outside your lung,
mainland

these scapulas patent navigation
better than ecco-ever better than,
or at least with brows a kinder furrow

amiable for /amiable
smooth neck pulley

i could fall, small of back
lay there curving

become boat

you have your spectacle,
i have mine

we could make a deal —
take this island &
my right hand will
if yours left still hungers
junebugs, tattered firework lanterns

don't shake your head like that, say so

sometimes these trees look mountainstone
& spine finds burden, killer

fresh grannysmith.

Return to the Summer Fiction index.

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