Holly Day

The Morning After

falling down
from the sky above
come bodies of
people all asking
the time, but my
sundial has broke
and
is no good to anyone,
not me
or all the
naked girls
piling up.

 

 

 

Tiny Things

she lies so quiet in her crib and I check her breathing. She
stirs in her sleep and I am up, checking
her breathing. she opens her eyes, stares up at the ceiling as if
wondering where she’s at and I
check her breathing.

too many nights up with sick foundling kittens and
baby birds in shoeboxes, I can only
expect disaster. I check her pulse while I’m nursing
wipe gummy deposits from the corners of her eyes and

think about stiff little hamster bodies from childhood
the neighborhood strays that’d crawl under our porch to die
pink bodies of birds that had yet to open their eyes.
she smiles in her sleep and I’m
afraid to put her down.

 

 

 

 

Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis,
Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes in the Minneapolis school
district. Her poetry has recently appeared in The Worcester Review, Broken
Pencil, and Slipstream, and she is the recipient of the 2011 Sam Ragan
Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her book publications include Music
Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One for Dummies, Notenlesen für
Dummies Das Pocketbuch, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently
been translated into French, Dutch, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, and
German. Her novel, “The Trouble With Clare,” is due out from Hydra
Publications in 2013.

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