A poem by Andrea Rae Perkins

attractive older women

move their skin and hair and it’s the sound of bulls rushing

string their bones to be plucked by no one

are a cistern a druid launches himself towards

are not us but are are like us in that they want too much or nothing

if they’re thrumming rain on a school morning, we’re a big dog on a short leash

attractive older women miss people on television more than they miss real
iiiiiipeople

leave parts of themselves in vestibules, on landings

get lost in long yellow grasses
causing us to dream they’re cats hell bent into a curl
of night wind but really they’re all root and claw and there is no coin
that can get them back or turn them into a whole other animal

their numbers are sufficient to repopulate the island

sometimes you walk in on them accidentally as they’re nailing their husks to the
iiiiiiwall

recognize them by their mouths

fickle but fuckable, contained in beauty, with eyes like jars

 

Author Bio:

Andrea Rae Perkins edits the webzine Otis Nebula. Her work has appeared in Zocalo Public Square, Girls With Insurance, New West, and elsewhere. She lives in Tennessee and Hawaii.

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