Karyn Anne Petracca

baltic springtime

means portside restaurants serve asparagus with fish
!50! green tips emerge like infant penis heads from dirt mounds

windworn tree arthritic so floret
!25! of leaves grows perpendicular to trunk

purple chemise packed last slinks down from winter trapped in walls
!50!he’ll make love to me anyway maybe

!10! !10! means GDR flag in the middle-distance/across
!100! the street still hanging on, thumping
!50! its corn garland coming undone a few kernels at a time

last visit i learned how to remove a tick
!100! from my left breast (twist, don’t yank,
the head)

!50! means i carry a white pail to harvest sea buckthorn
!100! !50! !5! from flashy orange bushels, accidental lighthouses
by hand only a dozen
thorns for every fist of acerbic berries

!50! sea fishing, d. hooks a trout and we think it rainbow
!100!!50! !5!i never see the stone blow to the head
the humane way to do it

at the apartment, hands frozen too numb for a button-fly
!50! pee straight through my skinny jeans

he couldn’t say for sure when; i don’t know
!50! wait sick & wet as long as forever takes
the naming of it still a season, spinal tap, MRI away

!50! means eating the fish’s endangered cheek noting
its pink inside like me

!25! we eat it thinking rainbow rainbow
!50!!25!!10!!10!find out later steelhead
from the salt

Karyn Anne Petracca is from New York. She now lives in Wilmington, NC, with her partner, Ken. She also lives with MS. She enjoys wheelchair-accessible frolicking, almost all homemade baked goods, and re-reading Infinite Jest. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Nightjar Review and Map Literary.
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