Mandy Descending
Christopher Bucklow

Hands behind

trill her hips.

Disjoint of leg quirks up to

tip her from the reeds and red tombs to

a joyless Charleston

in a different myth.

The palimpsest is scraped

and the circles go through.


Her hips are owned.

His hands,

nonchalant, casual,

will grip and constrain,

circle her neck like wealth.

Hers flip up,

hopeless wings.

A step forward,

a flip of the foot

to skate the thin ice out of the black.

Staring out.

Held still.


Suzy Howlett