Tag: Kim Addonizio

by Kim Addonizio

Our drinks came with paper umbrellas.

My mother put on tennis whites.

My father went to the bar

the way he always did.

My mother put on tennis whites.

My brother threw me against a wall

the way he always did.

I believed in my guardian angel.

My brother threw my mother against a wall.

I walked in my sleep.

I believed in my guardian angel.

I woke up far from the house.

I walked in my sleep.

My mother read fairy tales and sang to me.

I woke up far from the house.

My mother was old, my father dead.

My mother read fairy tales and sang to me.

My father and brother crashed through the door.

My mother was old, my father dead

along with my guardian angel.

My father and brother crashed through the door.

I went to the bar

along with my guardian angel

and our drinks came with paper umbrellas.

from Tell MeFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2000 BOA
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

by Kim Addonizio

You’re lucky. It’s always them and not you. The family trapped in the fire, the secretary slain in the parking lot holding her coffee and Egg McMuffin, the ones rushed to emergency after the potluck. You’re lucky you didn’t touch the tuna casserole, and went for the baked chicken instead. Your friend with breast cancer that was detected too late—metastasized to the lymph nodes, the lungs, a few months to live—lucky there’s no history in your family. Another friend’s fiancé, heart attack at forty-seven. You lie in bed at night, your head on your lover’s chest, and you’re grateful. Your teenaged daughter, unlike all her friends, hasn’t become sullen or combative, addicted to cigarettes or booze. She’s not in the bathroom with her finger down her throat to throw up dinner. You and your family are fine. You’re happy. It’s like you’re in your own little boat, just you, sailing along, and the wind is up and nothing’s leaking. All around you you can see other boats filling up, flipping over, sliding under. If you look into the water you can watch them for a while, going down slowly, getting smaller and farther away. Soon, if nothing happens to you, if your luck holds, really, holds, you’ll end up completely alone.

from Tell MeFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2000 BOA
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.

I want it flimsy and cheap,

I want it too tight, I want to wear it

until someone tears it off me.

I want it sleeveless and backless,

this dress, so no one has to guess

what’s underneath. I want to walk down

the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store

with all those keys glittering in the window,

past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old

donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers

slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,

hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.

I want to walk like I’m the only

woman on earth and I can have my pick.

I want that red dress bad.

I want it to confirm

your worst fears about me,

to show you how little I care about you

or anything except what

I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment

from its hanger like I’m choosing a body

to carry me into this world, through

the birth-cries and the love-cries too,

and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,

it’ll be the goddamned

dress they bury me in.

from Tell MeFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2000 BOA
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.