Molly Curtis

Not blossoms

but anemones

the intimacy of this sand

I am lost

or windswept or

untragically misunderstood

tell me

the story of being put into a mouth

and taken out whole

yet grown smaller somehow

so in the end

all the many many grains

are only tastebuds sprouting

a flowering in the throat

a hollowness

a limp windsock and lost children

I had sand in my cavernous

molars while writing

you into the beachscape

the driftwood is overloved

and I dreamed it so hard

I dreamt it away

with my hands


right down to the groundwater.

Molly Curtis has an MFA from The University of Montana, where she received a 2010 Academy of American Poets Prize. A chapbook of her poetry, “Mouths Full of Glass in the Abandoned Bathhouse,” was released by Zero Ducats Collective in 2009, and her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Beloit Poetry Journal, Third Coast, Thirteen Myna Birds and The Nervous Breakdown.

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