Use This Poem to Dry Your Eyes
Use this poem like a junk drawer,
clamour of fragment- ed pieces—half-used index
cards, one-year-old receipts, seven different brands
of pens, unused record store gift card for the turn- table
your mother doesn't know you 've donated to Goodwill
—yet still enough room to tuck you r
pain away. Use this poem
as a lover—daisy-chain fragile, nocturnal neon, on-all-fours
feral. Use this poem to kindle cimmerian corners, juice
summer apples for mulled cider, burn tongue
on the pine needle memory of hot cocoa with froth
and the big marshmallows. Use this poem like a rabbit's
foot—mass manufactured & magenta-dyed, more afterthought
than amulet, dumb luck on your worst day.
Kait Quinn (she/her) was born with salt in her wounds. She flushes the sting of living by writing poetry. She is the author of four poetry collections, and her work has appeared in Reed Magazine, Watershed Review, Chestnut Review, and elsewhere. She received first place in the League of MN Poets’ 2022 John Calvin Rezmerski Memorial Grand Prize. She enjoys repetition, coffee shops, and vegan breakfast foods. Kait lives in Minneapolis with her partner, their regal cat, and their very polite Aussie mix. Find her at kaitquinn.com.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.