Popsicle

The girl’s got eyes glazed over like a popsicle in Amsterdam. July.
The poppies are beautiful here, I want to write in a postcard
to someone I love. I love so little anymore. I love so easily.
Strangers say they got wings covering their back with olive branches
so when they fly we will say is that an angel, come down here,
I’m tired of the wet wings dripping on my comforter. The soaking story
of all of it. The stairs, he’ll say were glazed with meaning,
like I care. I do care, I think, I care that we’re glazed here.
So much is the meaning. So much is the wonder. I gravitate
to the poets here, with their fucking hair all over the place
and no one says a thing. I keep drinking and pulling oranges
out of my mouth. My friend tells me to be alone without seeking.
It’s all seeking, I say, as I become the feathered part of it.
 
 
 
Kallie Falandays is the author of Dovetail Down the House (Burnside Review, 2016). You can read her work in Day One, Black Warrior Review, The Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in Philadelphia, where she runs Tell Tell Poetry.