Poems, by Rebecca Lu Kiernan.
Scientists on Montserrat
Say rain causes volcanic eruptions,
My labrador has become fearful
Of shadows, howling, grunting,
Snapping at the air.
Your silence on this day
Trickles into my cupped hands,
If I don't tremble soon
I will overflow with your absence,
I will be required to speak first
I will have to blink,
Erase myself with your
I water the window box fairy's thimble
In chewed bunny slippers and feed
The deadly nightshade from the pail
Stone gray clouds finger a cherry sun.
I wait in my grandmother's rocking chair
For the glint of your white car
Through the bent cobalt willows.
Sometimes it scares me too
Where my shadows fall.
The Case for Bestiality
"My god, you're beautiful in this position!"
Whimpers The Lover
With no view of my face.
"A goat would be stunning
With your cock in its mouth!"
"I'll come by the office"
He whines, lip curling,
"And you won't say a word
But rise to lock the door
And you'll twirl off your panties
And sit on my face
And bad girls get a spanking by the boss,
Elbows on desk, I'll take your ass
And believe me it will hurt at first
And you'll say STOP and I'll keep
Pounding and I'll be done and you will
Beg for more
And I will leave without a single word."
Calmly we dress and make our exit.
He stops to lock the hotel room door
As if some thief might steal his semen
From the cherry desk or the gold
Pillow or the dice-patterned carpet.
At times I worship him, others I think
Bestiality should be legal
And some men who shall remain nameless
Should be strictly limited to goats.
To the Bat Who Ate a LionAlready I miss it, "Be that as it may,"
The 3 A.M. light under the bedroom door,
Your fingers on the violin, the safety chirp of
Your midlife crisis car, the longest, most
Intelligent explanations of things completely
Mistaken, Your tangent about advertising being
Mostly voodoo, your whimpery panting against
The back of my neck, your cry of "Don't move,
It's too good."
I miss anticipating your hands on me from across
White linen and crystal, your tease-barking at
The dog, your hiccup after pears, high pitched
Recount of the latest speeding ticket, copper
Cup of Kahlua and coffee, casual perch, ankle
Of your crossed leg touching mine, the hotel
Robe thrown on for room service, your
Fully clothed business voice on the phone, the
Darting eyes of a racing mind, the sound of your
Shiny black shoes on the staticky rug, your hands
Behind head for a yawn, your mock smile of
Shock and amusement, the snap of your spoon
Cracking the creme brulee,
The lion you trained to chase me
Holding its hot mouth tamely around my head,
My tight French twist tickling its tonsils.
Rebecca Lu Kiernan is the editor of the print literary magazine, Gecko. Her
fiction has appeared in MS Magazine, Asimov's Science Fiction, Space and
Time, North American Review and other journals. Her collection of erotic
poetry, Sex with Trees and Other Things Equally Responsive was published
by 2 River Press. Her poems have appeared several times in this journal.
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