Address



dawn in plain view         the second story        open window         and it rains so much
right now the youngest goat leaps over the barb         into the beet patch         right now I watch

a man walk up a hill in his bleach-white bee suit         sure        as beautiful as Plath made it seem
right now I lick a teaspoon of honey from my index finger         right now my tongue sings yellow

only b/c I know this is only a place         I slip         into the most flattering garment         dress
in the small corner         of an abandoned stable          right now         a party upstairs     

a terrace         where champagne is         un-drunk but going fast        right now a man walks
into a dusty room         with a single bulb on a single chain         and he feeds me

an entire slice of cake            b/c I am an unseeming seam             &  countryside lifts
her skirt         right now         wheat sways in that ongoing field        where we touched    

say nothing        b/c the farm is just a scene            where a garden might start
look at the ferns         figs         queen anne’s lace         again again        where my clothes fall 


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Elizabeth Sochko is a writer from South Carolina.  She earned her MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College, where she worked as a poetry editor for LUMINA. She lives in New York.