melissa christine goodrum

morning sun

like a mangrove mannequin
set in motion, the golden whistler
is what might be found
on small islands of the open ocean
her black eyes blind to the pale & crisp
sun creeping up her legs/crawling
she be empty vessel in salmon bikini

it’s summer
and her mind is wrapped
in cotton sheath
in itchy linen & dusted grey
the bird drops below
the buildings outside blare
bright crimson bricks
and a moldy copper water tower

read "hotel room" & "a new york movie" by melissa christine goodrum