Quail

six of us in a car meant for
four at the most but had no
choice, no choice at all make me
think at one hundred when all
I had was half a bottle of truck
driver speed and no food no water
sucking at the side of my mouth
until blisters grew on the tip of my
tongue yeah, real smart, I
was the best of them all, though,
still am driving ninety through
most neighborhoods one-twenty
on the freeway eyes out for
cops speed traps strange-looking
cattle your mother standing by
the side of the road Wild Turkey
clutched at her side "bring me back
my money!" drive on, baby
don't look back

And Then He Hit Me

dishes. ashes in the hallway bootprints stomped
black into white carpet, nothing
dissolves tar I said I screamed I say again to
blood in the toilet, in the sink, reflections of mother
in the bathroom mirror no I am not like you no
I can and will walk away no
money. piles and piles of bills in the closet
afraid to send them in, know he'll comment
the drain on the bank account the places
he should and would be without me white
dents in my skin, too blue near the bone
voices scream in my head on the television just
walk away run away no no no no

Holly Day's poetry, fiction, and nonfiction have most recently appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Skyway News, and Ruah. She currently works as a reporter and a writing instructor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and lives with her two children and husband. Her hobbies include skateboarding, crocheting, and trying to peaceably communicate with uncooperative vending machines.

Email: Holly Day

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