Poems from kirstenholsomback

please my name is john
today i am eight andwhen i asked to be a cowboy, an honest-to-god lone ranger,my mom looked really funnyand hushed me with fairy wings...
the rasp of woodsmoke
Everywhere I go is somewhere I’ve been In your mouth, the ridges of molars scraping Against my tongue, dry like sandpaper at the Thought...
Like Leaves Break from Branches
I loved you like crusted pensClots of ink in harried scratchesLike dust on Brother's GrimmThe copy you thought you wantedLike pages red-...