ren.der
By Katie Kurtz
ren.der
tr. v.
You are the stolen coin from a country I’ve never visited.
An open door key in the lock hinges undone.
Hard candy in a glass bowl graveside flowers lit candles the burnt offerings you are the ashes afterwards.
The crumpled receipt overdue fine drycleaner ticket coat check token you are life’s detritus on the hallway table.
The white flag raised.
a. Vowels consonants gerunds and similes you articulate me.
b. Mixed mottled and matted my limbs limned you win.
7.
8. a. Violin yowl in an emptied apartment.
b.
9. Se réveiller se réveiller se réveiller.
10. Guilty nonetheless you pronounce my innocence.
11. Bastardized otherwise.
12. In Fahrenheit and Celsius you reduce me.
Katie Kurtz lives in Seattle. Her poetry has appeared more recently in Under a Warm Green Linden and not so recently in now defunct publications.