Poems by Stacy Kidd
The house beginning has eighty minutes. It isn’t
an atom that laterals
here. Articulation: awl owl wilding.
As in ago, we went. All air & able— instantaneous. A
(apple jack) A (lumber yard)
The house remaking has seven
minutes, I am not in a hurry, who is laughing, whose teeth in a jar
—I think I inherited it —what color there —I was
tinny or written or —thin strip of
I don’t know what you’re asking, The house is heardness like wings
—what wings are for
—ripping down paper to a seed
Stacy Kidd’s poems have appeared recently in Interim, The Tiny, and Sou’wester. She sometimes teaches for the Red Earth MFA Program, and is an Assistant Editor for Reality Beach. She lives and writes in Oklahoma.