Dear, this porch light is driving me crazy and forgive me
for fornicating electrically. With my head buzzing
I don’t even know my own face. With my face
aging I can’t even beckon over my shoulder.
When you squared your pinch against your brow
I could not secede so I would kneel.
Maybe you are a religious man and I am
confessing my desire to be distilled
or dirtied but when I look up to the dark
inscrutable space beneath your brim I lack
the luster to lick my lips. Our flanks flicker
in the sizzling toward sure outage.
If I were a horse I could blame the horse
flies. I only want to shoot out that light
with my 20 gauge and harvest darkness, silence.
Addie Palin received her MFA in Poetry from the University of Montana, where she was the Richard Hugo Scholar. She has recently returned to Missoula after a stint working in the Chicago advertising community. Her first manuscript was a finalist for the Tupelo Press Dorset Prize, the Colorado Prize and the National Poetry Series, among others.