Poetry by Amy Kotthaus

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​Idols

She’s no idol clutched
in beige waiting rooms
by white knuckled hands
or hung from rear view mirrors.
She doesn't bring miracles
to barren women
or protect the traveler.
Yet, men are eager
to fill her
smoky altar with gifts
of azurite beads
and silver teeth.
She sits in lotus,
palms up. Luminescent
liquid collects, builds
teardrops at her fingertips.
Brittle in descent,
they shatter, diamond
dust covering the floor
of her sorrow temple.
Husbands carve her image
onto their wives’ faces.
How disappointed they are
when the pain is dull.




American Plague Report

A virus causing fevers in the brain.
See: deafness, blindness, manic, seizing fits.
See: gene mutation. Patient zero found
among the men who took the vellum house
and dragged its vested priests to hanging deaths;
they set the ink bowl offerings alight.
Reports of charcoal smoke clouds are confirmed,
and subjects now presenting with effects
of gaseous pigment inhalation. See:
diverse acuity of paranoid
delusions (gendered lives and fetal deaths,
their bodies mummified in newsprint scraps).
We fail to replicate the antidote,
and subjects are refusing all relief.




Worm

blade turned inward

scarlet, tin, iron on skin

the hermaphroditic worm

Janus smells life, seeks sustenance

more blades clamor "feed the worm!"

knives cut knives

lonely, this worm feeding




Alexandria

Shards of paper
between my teeth,
razors drawing blood
to mix with ink
on my gums.
I swallow
this simple syrup,
unfurl my scroll tongue
to lap the last
from my lips.

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Bio: Amy Kotthaus is a poet and photographer. Her poetry has been published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Yellow Chair Review, Occulum, and others. Her photography has been published in Storm Cellar, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Moonchild Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine, and others. She currently lives in Maine with her husband and children. 

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