Winter 2005



Stacey Waite

She doesn't want any more
of this white sky, so
full of itself and whole.
She doesn't know if she'd
recover. She eats bread
in small pieces. The sting
ache of my tongue
from all its reaching inside
the broken windows of her body.
We tell each other stories, or
we're about to. More white sky.
No names. No track
of time. Only bodies
to feel the world with.

Stacey Waite's poetry has apperared most recently in Blom, Chiron Review, Marlboro Revies and Nmirod. A collection of her work, entitled "Choke," was the recipient of the 2004 Frank O'Hara Prize for Poetry.



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