• Neon Mariposa Magazine

Two Poems by Kari Flickinger

Complete / Static

I am always gathering

gifts I find in the street in trees in

side / I say little prayers all day

as I forage for forgiveness

an anemone pressed in a pocket

of this book / a b

lack feather / a bay leaf with

a couplet / a fruit-painted rock

a swirling-in-wind seedpod

makes me think the word

shrouded / a small pinecone in

my leather jacket/ pocket/ you.

What the hell does this imply?

That you are gatherable?

Nothing about you

will ever be complete / static.

and loss seems to cycle

clumsy / breakneck

when you leave

this time.

Doctor Says

An apple a day should keep

but it refuses the gesture. I unscrew

this me-proofed cap. Pop

warm prescriptive flesh

sweet chilled floating—slice

indignant skin with

broken front tooth. Do you think

apples are resentful—like me?

Moon-shaped resentment takes

the world into her fanged mouth—she

gorges on the juice—she

hopes this will be the one.

O apple—please poison me.

Kari A. Flickinger was a 2019 nominee for the Rhysling Award, and a finalist in the IHLR 2018 Photo Finish. Her poetry was published in Written Here, Riddled with Arrows, BHP, Door-Is-A-Jar, Ghost City Review, and Mojave Heart Review among others. She is an alumna of UC Berkeley. When not writing, she plays guitar to her unreasonably large Highlander cat. Find her: @kariflickinger.


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