Wednesday, January 5, 2011


My Heart

That Mississippi chicken shack.
That initial-scarred tabletop,
that tiny little dance floor to the left of the band.
That kiosk at the mall selling caramels and kitsch.
That tollbooth with its white-plastic-gloved worker
handing you your change.
That phone booth with the receiver ripped out.
That dressing room in the fetish boutique,
those curtains and mirrors.
That funhouse, that horror, that soundtrack of screams.
That putti-filled heaven raining gilt from the ceiling.
That haven for truckers, that bottomless cup.
That biome. That wilderness preserve.
That landing strip with no runway lights
where you are aiming your plane,
imagining a voice in the tower,
imagining a tower.

-Kim Addonizio

1 comment:

  1. this poem brings up memories... of similar things... no, of the feeling of uneasiness mixed with familiarness mixed with the knowledge that something will be a cherished memory even though right now it is just cold and icky... this is real life I like this poem.