Poem by Cetoria Tomberlin

Monday: clear sailing.
Smelled kryptonite and 
decided against breakfast.
We played dominoes while 
the sky rained goose feathers.

Tuesday: siberian boudoir.
Southern phoenixes played 
queen’s violet in my hair 
all night. Had to wash it 
twice with spiced rum.

Wednesday: bali sand.
There is a stately gargoyle 
outside my window. I fed 
him smoked turquoise once. 
His name is Napoleon.

Thursday: pastoral firebush.
The whole world sounds 
like it’s undersea blue, but I’m
certain we ate roasted peppers 
for lunch with romaine tea.

Friday: featherbelle white.
Went sky diving in a 
cotton field. The crackling blue
lady from Regatta Bay didn’t 
notice the stolen huckleberries.

Saturday: sapphire dragonfly.
My ballerina slippers have a Cajun 
accent while Beethoven hums.
I wonder if he kept a talisman
so he could see when stars glow.

Sunday: still waters.
There’s no one to blame for a 
neurological phenomenon, starch 
coats whisper in shades of granite 
about cyclical progress.

Cetoria Tomberlin is a poet and fiction writer who lives in Northwest Georgia. She received her bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing from Berry College. Her work has previously appeared in Fairy Tale Review, NonBinary Review, Southern Women’s Review, The Battered Suitcase, Spires, and online at LADYGUNN and HelloGiggles. She is also a book reviewer for Mixed Diversity Reads.

Poem originally published on 4/20/15