Poetry by Kay Kestner

            ​Christopher Sessums CC



The Watch 
 
We have not heard back from her. 
The lines are down.  She's under the glacier. 
 
Her mother's lighting candles after mass 
on Wednesday afternoons, praying her girl 
will make it through the winter, make it to  
where the ice melts.   
 
Her brother's a cracked record of how  
blue's her favorite color.  He's always  
had some sick defiance of the truth. 
 
As for her father, pick a Father: God, McKinley, 
or the man her mother married.  It doesn't matter. 
We're getting only silence from that trinity. 
 
This could just be the beginning. 
 
We've set a watch at the edge of the ice. 
We'll keep calling for her.  We'll tell you 
when we get word, if we get word. 
until then, we'll keep calling for her. 
 
Keep calling for her. ​





​This Couple 
 
I. 
In the glass 
a girl 
liquid 
wanting 
to be the sea 
so that the sky 
would take her 
salt by salt 
so high. 
 
II. 
On the dry side of the mountain 
his crops need life-support and 
still, with that, the prognosis  
would be bad.  A graying sky 
suggests the medics are on 
the way.  But only a sprinkle 
comes, nothing but a little 
tease falling on a future desert. 
 
 

 
Kay Kestner’s work has appeared in journals since the early 1990s.  She is a screenwriter, poetry, and prose writer.  Her work is an unapologetic combination of gentle grace and raw reality.  She is the founder and former editor of Poetry Breakfast and has led writing workshops through the Ministry of Artistic Intent and at The NJ Poetry and Arts Barn.  You can find more information about her work at KayKestner.com.