Today's poem is by Amanda Dettmann

Superstition
       

Every time I see a pear I think of the man
Who offered me a bruised one seconds after

Sex, like an elevator stopping at a deceased's
Door and sniffing. I wish he'd done anything

But that: sending my shadow sweetness like green chalk
Drawn around the eyes of a dead cattail. From bed,

I could hear the wooden planes I used to hurl
With my dad on the front lawn before Christmas,

Wanting to floss my chattering jacks of teeth and spit
On the ground like doves do before giving birth.

You want? he'd said, sweating spearmint across sheets.
How does a candle resist; how do I brush salt

From my hair and not check who's been
Thrown over my left shoulder?

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Copyright © 2024 Amanda Dettmann All rights reserved
from Ponder Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission