To survive a demonology, you have to know that you are loved.

 

These blood-pink

pansies walk crooked through the eye.

The distance is burning blue

gasses, one hand above the fire

pulsing in the grate.

We eat filberts with the pears—

our mouths become brave.

You prove me each morning.

 

Strategy and outcome.

 

Delicate bejeezus your sight

succumbs to bumblebee humming.

I’ll doll you up in a lace

train and veil of ancient silk if necessary.

Just speak me those voices.

Just write me a lecture that obdurate plethora.

In the pantry, find the crate of selves.

Answer me stridently,

just this once.


________________________________________


Jenny Drai has work appearing or forthcoming in Aesthetix, Indefinite Space, La Petite Zine, Parthenon West Review, and Spork, among other journals, as well as in the Calaveras chapbook series and "phrases/fragments: anthology" (sustenance press).  She currently lives in Vancouver, Washington, where she is at work on a novel.