Carolynn Kingyens
Throwing Plates
You throw plates against the kitchen floor
the way the Greeks do;
dance the can-can barefoot on broken, ceramic chips.
You lift your long, cotton skirt to your thighs
as your bra strap slopes down your shoulders
on its own.
You toss your hair clip across the room,
hitting a window, hair collapses into lose curls
down your back, barely to your hips.
You let him pick you up,
your legs wrap around his torso
as he wipes the kitchen table clean behind your back
with one fell swoop of his tattooed arm;
bills and bananas, your sleeping cat and a
salt shaker come crashing to the floor.
You awake from this daydream
when he asks you to pass the salt,
for a moment you forget this is your life,
this is your man who eats his meals with his head down,
unwilling to talk, the only voice coming from a radio
on top of the icebox, a program on conservative commentary.
You go back to adjusting your bra straps within the borders of your tank top,
pet the purring tabby on the table while you eat a bowl of hot chili,
and blow breath on each steaming spoonful before you swallow.
Carolynn Kingyens is brief and to-the-point when it comes to her bio: her poems have been
featured in Salt, Schuylkill Valley Journal, The Potomac, Heavy Bear, and The Blue Jew
Yorker.
Home
Issue Four
Throwing Plates
You throw plates against the kitchen floor
the way the Greeks do;
dance the can-can barefoot on broken, ceramic chips.
You lift your long, cotton skirt to your thighs
as your bra strap slopes down your shoulders
on its own.
You toss your hair clip across the room,
hitting a window, hair collapses into lose curls
down your back, barely to your hips.
You let him pick you up,
your legs wrap around his torso
as he wipes the kitchen table clean behind your back
with one fell swoop of his tattooed arm;
bills and bananas, your sleeping cat and a
salt shaker come crashing to the floor.
You awake from this daydream
when he asks you to pass the salt,
for a moment you forget this is your life,
this is your man who eats his meals with his head down,
unwilling to talk, the only voice coming from a radio
on top of the icebox, a program on conservative commentary.
You go back to adjusting your bra straps within the borders of your tank top,
pet the purring tabby on the table while you eat a bowl of hot chili,
and blow breath on each steaming spoonful before you swallow.
Carolynn Kingyens is brief and to-the-point when it comes to her bio: her poems have been
featured in Salt, Schuylkill Valley Journal, The Potomac, Heavy Bear, and The Blue Jew
Yorker.
Home
Issue Four
All rights reserved.
Chickenpinata
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