by Kristin Gulotta
lerxander: The scent of it is rich in white soups that make you tip the bowl for more and walking in a wood you will find it only near the tough berry shoots where it lingers in a dust or drips on syrup stones that you gather in a satchel If it's lined with squirrel fur it will keep for a year or more psylomastiphy: A science long forgotten for reaching the base of the brain matter and the spirals that collect there each ring is filled with tiny teeth that meet and chew the thoughts When these are straightened and realigned the teeth chip and new ideas spill out and spring to a place behind the iris for clearer looks savyontar: It is a way of knowing that the suns have shone all when days pile on the earth and we set sail for far-flung feats and we creep and crackle and we see flowering crabs of darkest purple wisps that reach from the blue thin and sticky mist This, and we know we’ve slept too sweetly in fronler: This is the measurement of difference in a sunset cloud when it is red to tell the boatsmen when to drop anchors or to take the catamaran so deep to where the fish are jumping and the sea will twist up greens and browny blues When you add the age and space and abilities of speeches and mingle them in the shades you know what fronler meant when he gave his method that name geshtimego: It has the sense of a gourd sometimes dried, sometimes fresh that is hollowed out and placed beside the fire if it stays unfilled and does not rot the cicadas will mill around and eat the crops if you wake and see new seeds inside take four spiders and make a paste to throw on the embers with a cooling wine Sometimes babies cry at these sounds and are hushed by the long hair of their mothers
Kristin Gulotta lives in the Midwest and does lots of writing tutoring. She is currently working on her undergraduate poetry thesis at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where she is also on staff with the Madison Review. Her work has appeared in REDzine, Vapid Kitten, and other fine journals.
Though she recently had the great honor of tasting durian, the king of fruits, its fishy aftertaste precludes it being her favourite. Instead, she prefers apricots picked fresh by the shirtful from a tree in Sambuca di Sicilia.
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