Eyeball Prayer
Thank you, Lord, for my marvelous eyes;
blue orbs that never witness sleeves creeping
from laundry baskets, or see windows smudged
by kitty noses. Eyes, that transform piles
of books on the dresser into odd shaped flowers
blooming beneath the mirror, and cause
my kitchen sink to morph into a sterling band,
without one water spot. Eyes, unlike
my husband's, that capture everything in sight,
roll around his head at untidy bed covers
and go crossed, when large spoons mix
with small, in cutlery drawers.
Sissy Girl
By midmorning the splintery dock
beneath my belly is already warm
where it snags against my cotton shirt.
I smash tiny balls of Wonder Bread
between two fingers and balance them in a pile,
ready to chum for smelt. Dad's dull pocket knife
is my only device for sawing mussels off pilings,
I crush them with a hammer, creating secret
concoctions to entice the fish. Uncombed hair peeks
over the dock edge as I hide from elusive victims.
Shadows deepen against turquoise water,
my drop-line, with one tiny weight threaded
in the middle, pulls a bead of bread down.
Fins flash and spiral a kaleidoscope of blue and gray.
I sit for hours with an empty bucket
where my prize fish should reside—
giddy with thoughts of many conquests,
frightened to unhook a single mouth.
* Karen Kelsay is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author
of three chapbooks A Fist of Roots, Somewhere Near Evesham and Song of the Bluebell Fairy, published
by Pudding House Publications and The New Formalist Press. Karen has
recently launched an online poetry journal and e-chapbook publishing venture
called The Victorian Violet Press
– click here for details http://victorianvioletpress.com/