Poetry: Olivia Cronk

from ‘Taupe House’

Olivia Cronk

 
In taupe house
there are gigantic black tear drops
squirreling the ceiling
in taupe house
in each one
with the face of
gigantic black tear drops
bitterly the face of
over and over again in taupe house
in that sweet ass skin
you must know how I bitterly and now
slippery
little edge luscious
chewed hair in the
in the window’s crystal, mirror to mirror, bloody mouth to bloody mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

houseplants were tipped
every loose yellow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
second eyelashes and sweet double-headed lamb hollering
its remorses

a driveway

a scene undoing      and some gold and some     sibilant little sounds
in the crawl space the women are coming alright

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
someone’s housecoat in

and unwashed bedclothes
are piled in the kitchen hunching over an ashtray in midday radio

in where the baby is is where melancholy’s worms are hatching
in all of time is two weathers: hand on hand on the yellowing hour

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
The secret second theater is the sister’s split sister:

incompletion is a physical space
around which
this fancy clothesline blows the membrane open

do not let it taint a space
mouth and room are the same, my friend, my friend

once some pastel turquoise shorts
was the satin to me
 

Olivia Cronk’s first book was “Skin Horse” (Action Books, 2012). Her recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Jubilat, Deluge, and Spoila. She teaches writing at Northeastern Illinois University in Chicago.