Contributor: Jennifer Y. Montgomery

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Shame

India ink on
the white rug. So many towels.
Still damp, grey after.


Sign

That morning the damp
on pavement is bleeding round.
Fleeting crop circle.


Fragments

An unripe apple.
Cold, chapped hands. Draft beneath the
Piano room door.


After

After the fire,
Smoke caught in her hair, ensnared.
Tears poured forth at will.


Anachronism

She felt out of time.
She left the wash on the line
And now this downpour.


Truth

The indent from too
tight gloves. Manifest as skin
goes pink. Ache then hum.


Preparation

Rust bleeds through the paint
with every coat. She must strip
it down to the bone.


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Jennifer Y. Montgomery is a poet, visual artist, pie baker, and attorney who lives in Connecticut with her daughter. She considers writing poetry to be a meditation. Her poetry has appeared in Red Weather and Haiku Journal.