Looking Glass: Poetry by K. R. Morrison

 That day they made us go to court
 I wore the red and green dress I whored 
 for Santa, so the world could see 
 by the pretty cream lace collar and fancy satin 
 someone salvaged at least one sad child 
 from the trenches. The dress that itched so bad 
 I scratched myself lobster red, scraped away 
 all those false smiles kids wear         
 like that Christmas clown gown. 

 On that itchy day I whored it again. 
 That’s what kids do.
 We wrap ourselves in their flags, play
 dress up, pledge allegiance 
 in costume for broken family 
 nests, we salvage adults 
 with some hugs, shovel smiles. 

 My sister was there. 
 We pressed our small hands against 
 grand, sky-scraper glass and I asked
     If we jump
     would we be like my transformers
     and fly?"

 I annoyed her. 
     "No, Sis.
     If we jump
     from here, it would be dark.
     We'd leave the light and you'd be stuck
     in that dress. Forever."

 Her words were itchy, too. 
 I wanted her to look at me.
 She stared down 
 to the ground, beyond 
 our Looking Glass. 
 Her thoughts she kept far
 away, like all those little cars, lost 
 road ants on the ground, broken
 transformers rushing nowhere.
K. R. Morrisson

For 17 years, K.R. Morrison has been teaching English and Creative Writing at Galileo High School in San Francisco, Ca. She’s a drummer, writer, and these days she spends her time by the sea, near family in Southern California. Morrison’s first chapbook Cauldrons was recently published and released by Paper Press. She’s currently working on two new collections, including a large poetry manuscript titled, From her Wrist. Apart from reading at curations in New Orleans, Los Angeles, and New York, Morrison’s poetry has featured throughout several Bay Area readings. Her work has been published by Switchback, Quiet Lightning, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Gasconade Review and Great Weather for Media.

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