The Shortest Ceremony
Danica Obradovic

I now pronounce you a beggar, hanging
on your last sour tooth, dunking your eyes
in Clorox, a very orthodox poison. You were
working, living. Eating modest portions: rice.
You weren’t counting. And then each breath
became a grain. You were invited for seconds.
You reached for the colander and used it to breathe.

I now pronounce you a peel: potato, orange, grape.
By the skin of your lenses, follow the dot
that ticks and sputters. I now pronounce your name.
You hear a muffled meow instead, a question
begged from a swinging cabinet.

You may now kiss your space.
Come back to this room. You weren’t crowned.
You’re as casual as a haunch in blue jeans
and finally unaware of the time. The time,
as it plows through its tempo. A naked snow
shoveler who fertilizes emptiness with clunky feet.

DANICA OBRADOVIC gathers thoughts for a living. Some variations of this work have included: writer, neurofeedback coach, census taker. A few more of her poems were recently published in Used Furniture Review. 

:: ABOUT :: ISSUES :: SUBMISSIONS :: NEWS ::

ISSUE :: 5 ::

Brenda Anderson ::	The Fimble Wind
Evelyn Hampton ::	Hi
	Savior
	Start With Steak
Helen Vitoria ::	White
Adam Stoves ::	Ballusional
Rose Hunter ::	[taxi]
Gary Every ::	Popes on Bicycles
Bethany Haug ::	Love in the Park
Danielle Lea Buchanan ::	Spawn
Lewis Gesner ::	Black Ball
David Tomaloff ::	Five Photographs
Danica Obradovic ::	The Shortest Ceremony
	Syllabic Debacle
Mark Walters ::	Caveboy 1 & 2
Larissa Nash ::	The Star
	Unreal
Jenny McDougal ::	For the Monkey Astronauts of America in the 1950s
	Adler Planetarium on a Weekend
James Valvis ::	Poem Composed Entirely With Last Lines from James Dickey Poems 1 & 2
T.J. O'Donnell ::	Morning Shift
	Handmade in Alaska
Emily Glossner Johnson ::	Vladimir Lenin Grown Weary
Meg Eden ::	An Old Man Sighted, Planting Poinsettias

Homage to the Strange Spirits

Kenneth Patchen ::

Picture Poems