by
Kara Goughnour
In sparkling whirls, the burning turns
dark, grins the burnt-corked grin
of all men singed, of all men still gripped
by the whistling subway, the golden sprung
of the fire lily against cream-tiled suburb,
the luxurious spark of heel against muscle.
The smoke whispers above, a faint perfume
scented as the skin on the back of your hands,
as buckling before the half-bent leaves,
as our gentle hunger,
as the infinite stir of every man
under the dry rain
waiting.
Kara Goughnour is a queer writer and documentarian currently unpacked in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is the 2018 winner of the Gerald Stern Poetry Award and has work published or forthcoming in Third Point Press, Riggwelter Journal, The Southampton Review, and others. Follow her on Twitter @kara_goughnour or read her collected and exclusive works at karagoughnour.com.
