Holly Day

Spelunker

quiet church lies beneath
the marching
feet of men, a candle mass
that lead the blind fish on. I don't know
how long I've sat here, listening to
the drip of water, I'm

turning to stone, inside out.

winged choirs of bats flutter up
above, their nail-head eyes waiting for me
to fall asleep. so
I stay awake. I sit here, trying to see
their furry bodies, thick smears of blood
against the night.




The Flock

the seagulls find the dead child first, dig
out stiff fingers
from beneath wet sand and
old cardboard. they land in flocks
cackle

angrily at each other, bright-colored beaks
flashing in contrast to pale
breast feathers
black eyes. in the squabble, the girl's
small body

is uncovered, still unrecognizable
despite decay. her mother
slinks from the crowd
blocks ears against the screams of the birds
against the noise of the neighbors

screaming out her daughter's name.


Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes in the Minneapolis school district. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawai'i Pacific Review, The Oxford American, and Slipstream, and she is a recent recipient of the Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One for Dummies, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently been translated into French, Dutch, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese.
 

Current Issue:
January 2013

Mandy Jo Angleberger
Natalie Carpentieri
Holly Day
James H. Duncan
Don Kloss
Kirby Light
Raina Masters
Linda Price

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