by | Oct 2, 2012 | Poetry







It’s come to this, has it? Scouring the paper
for clues, anything
flammable, kindling for the furnace
in the basement of the house
so newly empty?

A child. Likewise, other things:
fences, potted plants, your mother’s
breakfront like an anchor – equally

Words came easily, filled in
for all the cracks. When the wind blew,
only the quietest among us could tell

that anything was wrong.

Now – silence. In the morning,
I cut phrases from the paper –
a grim anniversary still wary of bonds
They litter the un-swept floor.

When I reach for the kettle, the house
rises up as if to mock the ground it stood on.






Photo by Kerry Buckley on flickr

About The Author

Kim Triedman

Kim Triedman has been nominated for the anthologies Best New Poets 2009 and Best of the Web 2010 and her writing has been widely published and recognized. She is a graduate of Brown University and lives in the Boston area. She is the managing editor of Ibbetson Street. Her first poetry collection — “bathe in it or sleep” — was published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company in October of 2008.