colby

Kate Colby

My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is

Here, take it. You can have it, the embroidery hoop outside of which I work, darn everything for want of larger holes.              Backed up against              a bundling board of              increasing proportions              grinding my teeth and              kicking off the covers,              shallow sleep of being              not marriage material. Climb inside the vitrine, gather together the glass flowers that I want to break between my teeth, hear shatter in my head. How will it end? With neither a bang nor a whimper, but a weary, insistent banging Three cheers for Mrs. Bradford—              She fell over the side and died.              She fell back over the side and died.              She leaned back over the side and died. You gave us quite a scare. I return as Martin Guerre. My tiny plot I hoe and harrow again and again to see each time what I might grow there.

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