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Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom Pastoral Last night I dreamt you were a goat -- not a whole goat or even a half goat -- just really a one-quarter goat, from the kneecaps down like wooden splints, bearded above the hoof, no other clue except a hint of musk. You didn't play the violin. I think you were some kind of day trader. So I wake to find this spindly leg of lamb still sitting in the fridge, left over from the company soiree, that I only took to be polite, that's waiting on the garbage. It's peppered and probably succulent, if one had a taste for lamb. An odd coincidence, that the things I dream of now are the sort of black magic that come to death instead of life -- and appear, overnight, in Styrofoam boxes, beside a sticky patch of rice, a pool of mint, and a bouquet of radishes. Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom lives just
outside D.C., where, after earning her writing degree recently, she has been
in danger of going rogue. Her poems have appeared previously in Wicked
Alice, as well as Eclectica, Prick of
the Spindle, Lines + Stars, Thirteen Myna Birds, and a special
edition of blossombones featuring electronic
chapbooks by women poets. She edits the new journal Melusine. |
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