Bookends

By Lian Kirit Limperis

AT BRUNCH
green eyes over his orange juice, little birds aflame
 
CITY
the stoplights are parrots
 
RAINY DAYS
i'm indoors, building little nests with the tips of my fingers
 
INSIDE A POMEGRANATE
six hundred swollen little lungs
 
MISTAKES
I'm folding them into swans to lay
on the window ledge
 
HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT
the mice tip-toe in their feet pajamas
 
BOOKENDS
shoulder blades on a shelf
 
DEATH
hands in a white lake,
someone in the mirror with her back turned.