The Ditties

What do the dead drink? They take a shower in the evening. I really wanted them to like my
missive. What are you reading now?

Because of his handwriting, I dreamt of someone past. Now today feels like a diorama. The
white is indescribably white.

I need to get out of the letters. The girl in the lilac sweater with the lilac pen is left-handed. The
letters drifting down.

Itís too much to say but too much not to say: a flushing noise machine covers up your farts. But
really, what could come after that.

The chairs look like church. Itís the afternoon, so we must be yawning. I wonder if I will tire of
politeness Ė of bending.

Fatigue scars. With ease. Heís quieter here during sex. The foxes are watching, and beaming is
just okay. Just yawning.

We guess highballs. On TV, kiwi for the first time. I donít know what to say about the face
masks. She breaks the ice with a pick.

Another alphabet for emphasis. She came after us to give me a gold charm that binds. I am as
expansive as an eel.


Stephanie is the author of In the Key of Those Who Can No Longer Organize Their Environments (Horse Less Press) and Variants on Binding (forthcoming, National Poetry Review Press) as well as several chapbooks. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in 6x6, Black Warrior Review, BORT Quarterly, Lana Turner, Map Literary, Posit, and elsewhere. She edits Projective Industries and lives in Chicago.