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Khadijah Queen - Because there are no lakes, |
She forgets to open the curtains.
All the bed does
To waken her comes to naught.
The sun can't slipper through,
The wood's shut so tight.
Forests of moss
Jumble in the corners,
On the ceiling.
All she does is drink water.
Because there are no lakes, she makes
Supreme dives. That is not a dream,
See, nor is it nothing—
Plenty space for the summery pockets of crowds.
Call her Natalie; she is fully
Mysterious.
Because there are no lakes,
She writes for catalogs.
Outdoorsmen's knives,
Fisherman's twine, naked cherubs.
She does this to shock the closets,
Keeping little,
A hanger made of satin with its fine hook
Bent. Natalie, Natalie,
Can't you swim?
Khadijah Queen's work has appeared in various publications, including, most recently, The Paumanok Review, Pierian Springs, Samsara Quarterly, and The Adirondack Review, which nominated one of her poems for a Pushcart Prize.
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