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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.com @kariflickinger.

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