Breath & Shadow

Hunger Strike

By K.K. Philan

Darkness swims viridian

this time of year. Hollow,

and you taught me nothing

except how to hold nothing.

All gets ripped away

with harvest as tender leaves are plucked

regardless of time invested.

Swallow hard now,

this is going to hurt a little, you say;

not a lie for once.

Dusk begins to blot the edges

as all becomes tremulous and bruised blue

—the sky, the soil, the roots.

Everything that reaches back to you and me

and this fallow space between us.

But we dig anyway, wrench back and show

just how gutless we are.

How we would rather feel nothing, acknowledge nothing,

bump hips in apology like nothing ever happened.

And nothing will.

Black Marks on a Driveway: Daddy’s Home

By K. K. Philan

It only takes a second or eight

for frozen squares and stones

to get demoted

like forgotten ribbons,

a purple backpack

with a broken strap,

and an unused lipstick tube.

Patent leather hops for every scotch—

maybe it was never a game

One.

TwoThree.

when the rhythm tangled;

twined with rocks

clacking the sidewalk,

clinking the snifter.

Four.

and shadows

of each key—

house, office, ignition—

Five.

buried in a pocket with lint,

peanut shells;

every possession confronted

SixSeven.

by a purple-chalked outline,

tagged with a ribbon

that could never be beautiful.

K.K. Philan is a poet-turned-novelist determined to defeat her monthly disability check
with a recently conferred Bachelor's degree in Creative Writing. Her poetry and stories
have been included in journals such as Kerouac's Dog Magazine, Frightmares!, and
Willows Wept Review among many others. Her first novel, “SoulMortem Prophecy”, is due to be released soon at http://www.storihistorian.com/.

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