Rose Hunter

the bubbles


start as two
heads turning
shroud the room
dusk the window

and the forest
olive and red
man over lightning
and the horses

in the fish tank
gaudy shoulders
candy cane

so many
which ones to
but for now,
the bubbles.


the upward thrust
full bare
then vanish

like the words
between you and I

purificada y gasificada
made in Mexico

our bubbles
our bone.


clearing the palm fronds
sweat fine like soap powder
I won’t hurt you

what a promise to make and
anyway, here’s the belt.
The burglars stole my torture kit.

Ha! No — really. Took everything
except the saran wrap....

I get tired. Tell me something beyond this
something like: that I will
treat this as a vase?
I won’t juggle it
or take it for a trick; will do no
cartwheels or somersaults around it
take it to no fairs, or circuses.


Exhibit A: Patina, Loneliness

in the pharmacy
he calls, says:
I bought a bag of sugar.

Exhibit B: Misdirected Anger
Or, fucking tourists.

Yesterday I wanted to yell at them
but you weren’t there
so I didn’t.

Exhibit C: What Green Means

at the taco stand
lime juice and chili me.
Heap it on.

Exhibit D: How I Like to Pour Oxygen
Or, Do stripes go with flames?

No, I say, but maybe
you can pull it off?

Exhibit E: Plumage

termites’ wings, falling
confetti, but not
from a great height

that’s not a feather
in my cap, that’s: —

Exhibit F: Who Has Wounds

Exhibit G:

soda water and hibiscus
which means, I think

we should be careful
with each other
because people should

that’s what they should do.

Links to Rose Hunter's writing can be found at Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have To Take Me Home. Her book of poetry, to the river, was published in 2010 by Artistically Declined Press. Poems of hers have also been published in such places as PANK, kill author, The Nervous Breakdown, anderbo, Juked, and others. She is from Australia originally and now lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. She edits the poetry journal YB.
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