In Theory
BY G. HANLON
I like lipstick in theory
and the names
of lipsticks, especially Cherries
in the Snow.
I say her name over
and over, the way we wrote
our names as girls
sealing ourselves in serifs.
One of these days I expect
to come home and find you
doing coke in a sparkly shirt
she says. This doesn’t
seem like the sort of life
you’d be leading.
She’s a little
out of season.
I pray the rosary
of her spine irreverently.
The shadows of snowflakes
flickering like dark birds
over the torn up pages
of the white sheets
wanting to break
into beauty like a ripe
pomegranate
as it multiplies in jewels.
