POETRY by Kristen Miller
Some Kind of Sign
We have always told stories this way. We have learned
to tell time backwards. Our sister reads a series of
warnings as if they are poems, to disguise them.
Beneath a headstone inset with a clock hanging upside
down in the kitchen, our sister reads a series of poems.
Our brother has taken up management of the estate,
spreading blankets over missing stair steps and
throwing lavish parties. We want to be polite. We do
not ask if he shot anyone at school today. It seems like
some kind of sign. The neighbor kid we all worry about
appears and rides his bike in a circle three times.
The neighbor kid we all worry about appears and rides
his bike in a circle three times. It seems like some kind
of sign. We do not ask if he shot anyone at school
today. We want to be polite. Our brother has taken up
management of the estate, spreading blankets over
missing stair steps and throwing lavish parties. Beneath
a headstone inset with a clock hanging upside down in
the kitchen, our sister reads a series of poems. Our
sister reads a series of warnings as if they are poems, to
disguise them. We have learned to tell time backwards.
We have always told stories this way.