What She Memorized for the Test
Not the quadratic equation
but the need
for things to add up
and not the tangent, not
the isosceles triangle,
but the way all angles
lean into what becomes:
bundles of hypotenuses,
factors and powers,
the heron flying,
drawing a line
across your circumference of sky.
Bethany Reid walks her dog, drinks lots of coffee, and writes one-sentence poems and other stuff in Edmonds, Washington.
His Neck Slashed
the murdered man staggered
from the bed to the dresser
and stood, astonished, where each night
for thirty years he had emptied
his pockets of coins and keys—
staring now into the mirror as his life
drained from him, his soul
draped like a pair of silk stockings
over his wife’s vanity table,
after a while, lifting and drifting
into the afterlife without him.
To learn more about Bethany Reid, visit her blog at awritersalchemy.wordpress.com.