Adult Child
Merridawn Duckler
He just stands by the window making his hands go like this
when I want to discuss the insufferable press with its shiny polity
of winnership and she keeps buying younger and younger vaulted objects
because they remind her of waves she made in the first naked violin section
and, sure, yours were all thumb-suckers and litterers and without a doubt 
one dated sisters the minute he could backstitch a sheet and the other
didn't have a pot to fricassee piss in but now they want all kind of reassurances  
and they beg for a cheek kiss and then turn at the last minute so it becomes lips
and I fall for it every time and the money I saw in their purses and eye shine
when I turn to look at it now, is like a mighty salt palace a thousand turrets high 
above the dark and purple cloud cover set to release a maelstrom of erasing rain
Merridawn Duckler lives and writes in Portland, Oregon. Recent poetry is in Cirque Journal, Right Hand Pointing, Agave, Sugar House Review, TAB: Journal of Poetry and Poetics and forthcoming from Split Rock Review and Fifth Wednesday Journal. She was runner-up for the 2014 poetry residency at the Arizona Poetry Center judged by Farid Matuk. Her play in verse was in the Emerging Female Playwright Festival of the Manhattan Shakespeare Project. She has recent fiction in Poetica. Fellowships/awards include Writers@Work, NEA, Yaddo, Squaw Valley, SLS in St. Petersburg, Norman Mailer Center, merit scholarship with Billy Collins at Southampton Poetry Conference, others. She's an editor at Narrative and Evental Aesthetics.