Autumn Drunk By Sarah Kalthoff Sims

Autumn Drunk

Two basil plants wilt in the windowsill;
tea kettle screeches on hot coiled iron.

Her curls cling tight against her cheekbones.
Lipstick rings a wine glass filled with water.

Tea kettle sings on hot coiled iron;
autumn-drunk flies bump against screens.
Her lipstick rings water-filed wine glass.
Silver spoons drip honey like legs of bees.

Autumn-drunk flies bump against screens,
“Please do excuse our clumsiness.”
Dirtied spoons catch honey like bee legs;
tea burns down her throat in herbal waves

Please do excuse our clumsiness,”
her legs seem to say as they sway.
Wine burns down her throat, so
she pours the rest of the glass into a basil plant.

Her legs speak, slender as they sway;
flies watch groggily from sun-drenched sill
as she pours pinot into a basil plant
its leaves glisten, only for a moment.

Sarah (Kalthoff) Sims is a Midwest-raised, Pacific Northwest-based poet. She holds a B.A. in English from Hope College. You can find her recent work in Opus Literary Magazine, Collision Magazine, and Ekstasis Magazine. Sarah is currently an M.F.A. candidate in creative writing at Seattle Pacific University, and works on an organic, permaculture farm.

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