September 8, 2014 | Occasus | Issue 4 | Poetry
In the Front Seat of Daddy's Ford Explorer
Mommy
pulls off her scarf
with shaking hands.
It falls across the stick shift and into my lap, a slash of purple, a deep and dark plum like a line of thick bruises. |
The Flood at Kipling Generator
On the night we lost power
you lit five candles, cheap little things that I smelt on my tongue, choking on cherries, on cinnamon cotton candy cupcakes cookies. In the morning, we woke on the kitchen floor, flushed from our novocaine sleep, the refrigerator sweating in the corner. When I opened its doors, there was no light, only dripping water that kissed my ankles and a smell behind my eyes – of melted meat, of milk and mould. |
One Five Five
When the divorce is finalized,
He hires a hooker, or three. There is really nothing here to romanticize: he doesn’t notice the colour of their hair, doesn’t care about the where, or when, or such superfluous detail. He gets it up without problems, yells his own name when he cums. And he smirks, lights a cigar, and fills his morning coffee with rum. When he is feeling particularly melancholic, particularly alcoholic, he likes to singe off the faces from the photos on the fireplace mantel. He thinks he likes it best when the burns are perfectly round, when they are perfectly browned. He thinks he likes it best when the kids upstairs do not make a sound |
KATHARINE O'REILLY is currently pursuing a specialization in Creative Writing and English. She has been previously published in Occasus (Issue 2). She is the first prize winner for the 2014 Alfred R. Poynt Award in Poetry.