Collection of Poetry
by Krista Blodgett
"I kind of love
I think "dead"
is a harsh adjective
for the last note of a song.
What is death,
but a measure of rest
before the next movement?
Stillness is never permanent,
but it is beautiful,
while it lasts.
You accused me, once, of trying to romanticize poverty.
I brought candles and a bag of bologna sandwiches,
A gas station rose in a beer bottle
After your electricity was switched off.
I remarked how magnetic your copper eyes
In the dim light
Darling, romance is sometimes
The only thing poor people have
And I’ll be damned
If lack of money
Takes that from me, too.
I never knew my mother.
I don't mean that bullshit, 'we never got along' way.
I mean it like she abandoned me the day I was born.
I was club-footed and 2 months early.
I never got over it
And I've never been early, anywhere, since.
There is a bird
who leaves her eggs in other birds' nests.
Then absconds, cackling and sobbing in liberation.
A human, left me with strangers
The day I was born.
I grew up in a nest
Obviously not mine.
About the Author
Krista Blodgett is a stay at home, the latest in a string of odd jobs including: dog groomer, EMT, dairy farmer, and medical receptionist.