I Believe
Mrs. Allen, why did you tell us
second-graders that our guardian
angels wouldn’t follow us into
a liquor store? I spent hours
wondering how to get M&M’s
from the corner market, where Baileys
and Smirnoff bottles loomed
like Satanic shadows
over the register.
Huddled with my friend
on the curb, we could see
the candy close to the door –
Of course one earthquake,
and we’d be on our own.
My father scoffed at religion –
we let him go in for us.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Perfume
Your name was almost forgotten,
smudged from my memory – until
yesterday, when I overheard some women
saying they liked you, and you were still
available. Funny, thirty minutes later, I saw
you waiting there, as if you knew I was coming.
Certainly, with all those women pressing
around you, I found myself growing more attentive.
What would they say if they knew that long ago
you were once mine? That I tossed you away?
Your body looks more attractive that ever.
I let you touch my wrist, just once more, before
I leave. Then, slowly, I remember what it was
about you that I hated: that clingy
overpowering way of yours; how you
nauseated me by the end of each day –
You, horrid perfume.
* Karen Kelsay grew up in Southern California, and loves writing poetry about the sea. At the same time, she has written narrative, romantic, and fairy-theme poems that were created with other backgrounds and foreign lands in mind. Her first book – Collected Poems by Karen Kelsay – was published in June 2008, and a chapbook titled A Fist of Roots is scheduled to be published by Puddinghouse Press later this year.
