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EDITORIAL

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LAGNIAPPE

MAST

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Three Poems
by Kristina Lucenko


Coyote Girl

In my next letter I will tell you
how to outrun and kill an okapi.
I make crude discoveries. I have to

forget my pathless dens—too
rough and still—now that I’m free.
In my next letter I will tell you

how like my pack I grow. Destitute
of softness. Ignorant of pity.
I make crude discoveries. I have two

paws too few! I see my face in a pool
of water and know it’s me.
In my next letter I’ll tell you

that at night I hear shrieks in my heart, too
distant and dark to see.
I make crude discoveries. I have to

cry and smile. The wind blows
cold today. Tonight we’ll sleep three.
In my next letter I’ll tell you
how to make crude discoveries. Have to.


Bedtime Story

In a nearby galaxy your future daughters
try on bubble beards in the tub, aging
right before your eyes! Now that you’ve wrapped them in milk-
white towels, a pair of wet dumplings, ask yourself:
They’re cute and all that, but can you
devote your life to science fair and Kool-Aid?

This is a serious question.
You step onto the porch, smoke
and see—white puffs blossom overhead, spiral up,
turn into a trail of stars, until the sky is full
of small bright pulsing stars. Inside, they turn
on the TV and millions of them are suddenly born.

Tonight’s bedtime story: the Queen tries on
magic waterpants, and the Sultan signs up
for swimming lessons to impress her. For spring
equinox his daughters chain them to a flaming
merry-go-round until they marry. When it’s time

for bed you cover them, and when you wake up
the girls are flying out the door and into
boys’ cars. Don’t stand there on the porch
like an ovary. Tilt the silver flask to your lips
and drink. Tuck cab money under their pillows.
Sew advice into their Build-A-Bears.
Once upon a time there was a stepmother.
Burn down the old, in with the bathwater.


Wish List

I’ve always wanted to visit
a haunted house at the fair.
Wild cobwebs and funnel cake.
Furious organ music. Screams
and laughter on tape. My eyes
have trouble adjusting to the darkness.

I’ve always wanted to run
away and join the opera. This
Cleopatra wig weighs a fortune!
I asked for Fresca! In the limo,
by the Melody Tent, I wear a mink,
white, and through the rolled-down
window glass sign autographs.

I’ve always meant to write
a how-to girl book. When
the mustard’s dripping and
the beer’s foaming, you’re not
going to worry about some other
crazy peekaboo whatnot. Let
the world know: “This is
who I am. I’m in charge here.”

I’ve always dreamed of selling
the future. There’s a glacier
in the sound in the shape of
your name. Someone wants to cut
your bangs. This year you’ll fall
in love with a young giraffe
of Vegas. Snowflakes are fluent
in your languages.