Poems
If Love Was a Gentle Thing
If love was a gentle thing, you swore you never knew it. Magnolias grew slowly with their egg-shaped buds. I remember what you said by the pecan tree: there ain’t nobody here but us Gods. The final rose of summer resting silent on my doorstep was welcoming last rites. Soon we’d line up to our word and leave no trace of doubt, being torn to the other side. A spiral had formed, and those brown rivers swallowed it for feed. We put our heads down in the grass where the stars had been sliced open — bright for those who need to see it, know faith well enough to wield it, and could jump the train in time.
Kitty Saint-Remy is a writer and neuroscientist in Brooklyn, New York.