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.