{"id":1246,"date":"2011-10-03T22:11:10","date_gmt":"2011-10-03T22:11:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1246"},"modified":"2011-10-04T22:53:57","modified_gmt":"2011-10-04T22:53:57","slug":"kasandra-larsen-1011","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/kasandra-larsen-1011\/","title":{"rendered":"Kasandra Larsen"},"content":{"rendered":"

Burning the Paperwork<\/strong><\/p>\n

He turns the wheel with his thumb until flame
\njust threatens to come up, miniature blue sun
\nthat lights laminated greasy thoughts on fire<\/p>\n

with a pop and fizz inside their honeymoon suite,
\nmessed-up bed a testament to eternities they
\ncould have led instead of torching notarized<\/p>\n

documents. He smoked her cigarettes after
\nhe supposedly quit; she holds the lighter to her palm
\nbut still her hands freeze, though her fingers<\/p>\n

each turn black with soot. She wants to touch it
\nto the hem of her skirt, see feminine identification
\nflare into swirling ribbons as their bare toes<\/p>\n

wiggle in dirt and promises rise up and twist
\ninto an ashy mist, mingling with bits of melted
\nsealing wax and signatures that crackle in the air.
\n <\/strong><\/p>\n

The Hoarder Writes Home<\/strong><\/p>\n

You asked how I started; it was with fish
\nwith missing fins, torn tails, orange,
\nscaly, deformed. Sometimes they’d jump
\nout of the canals toward me.<\/p>\n

I took them home, of course,
\nand over time
\nall manner of strays made their way.<\/p>\n

Between the stacks of historical newspapers
\nI had at least a hundred cats,
\ncaged only to keep them
\nfrom eating each other.<\/p>\n

Bars are protection for all of us. I’ve learned that.<\/p>\n

Later, when the daily tasks of cleaning
\nand feeding, tending to wounds and
\nbloodletting became too much,<\/p>\n

I was unaware. Your father came out of nowhere.
\nI plunged my hands
\ninto his hair.<\/p>\n

His hair, all over — so much I nearly bent
\nto sweep it up and keep it —<\/p>\n

and even
\nwhen I stumbled out the door, torrents
\nof worms pulsing through me, roiling
\nmy intestines, pouring out<\/p>\n

of my mouth, slim and black and snaky,
\nfat white grubs in moist knots
\nof blind writhing, searching for homes
\nof their own,<\/p>\n

he still held me, gently filled each exit hole,
\ntouched me with a healing
\nunderstanding I had never known.<\/p>\n

When you were born, though
\nyou were screaming and covered in rashes, I held you.
\nI had no fear of poison like that,<\/p>\n

and when it was time I put you
\nback in the tank. Later, years later, after
\nI’d misplaced<\/p>\n

even your father’s bones, the house stank, but
\nit was the filthy smell of love.<\/p>\n

No guard here
\nwill touch me like that, and the ants
\nI share this dinner with aren’t
\ncompany enough.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Solved Equation for\u00a0a Shared Silence<\/strong><\/p>\n

The length of your crossed legs divided by the time
\nit takes my eyes to travel up to their divide equals
\nthe total of planted seeds deposited by breathing
\nthrough the phone, its indivisible and negative holes
\nfor both my mouth, your ear, the distance between
\nwhich is roughly proportionate to the difference
\nbetween the sums we never make in public plus
\nthe sounds we’d multiply if you were here.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Burning the Paperwork He turns the wheel with his thumb until flame just threatens to come up, miniature blue sun that lights laminated greasy thoughts on fire with a pop and fizz inside their honeymoon suite, messed-up bed a testament to eternities they could have led instead of torching notarized documents. He smoked her cigarettes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1246","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nKasandra Larsen - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/kasandra-larsen-1011\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Kasandra Larsen - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Burning the Paperwork He turns the wheel with his thumb until flame just threatens to come up, miniature blue sun that lights laminated greasy thoughts on fire with a pop and fizz inside their honeymoon suite, messed-up bed a testament to eternities they could have led instead of torching notarized documents. 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