Initial Bestiary

Cave: old friend 

as in wrinkled, dark. Airport 

lounge: book, used, potential. 

Tunnel: long and made 

of light. Cage: decorated 

accidentally. Magnolias droop. 

Frame: container but like a ladder. Two palms, 

pinky-edge touching, facing up: landing pad 

but only briefly. 

Pants: two containers, 

mostly soft. 

Jar: everything seen, 

even the middle. 

Friend: everything 

half-seen, especially the middle. 

Tree: too old 

for assurance. 

Mailbox: toy for communicating. 

Puddle: circus mirror and bring galoshes.

Yetta Rose Stein

YETTA ROSE STEIN reads and writes in Livingston, Montana. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Another Chicago Magazine, Tupelo Quarterly, and elsewhere. She is a founding member of the Mug Club, is on the board of Montana's Intermountain Opera, and is the Associate Poetry Editor for Hunger Mountain Review. She is a graduate of Hellgate High School and an MFA candidate at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. She likes pomegranates, kissing her friends, and water.

Previous
Previous

In The Deep Clearing

Next
Next

Quarter-Life Crisis