2 poems by kelly collins

gun powder

​The first time I heard that
the moon smells like gunpowder,
I thought “At’ta girl”
before wondering what big hurt
could leave such a stench
for such a time
And if the way I’m looking at you now,
like you’re the man in the moon,
is anything of a precursor
to that kind of desolation
I think maybe it came
from colliding with something
which made you feel so much smaller
than you were
And finding you’ve mostly changed
after it’s over

talk to me

​I am on the edge of
my seat like a cliff,
tired of tedious tongues.
My creaky heartbeat
is heard through the ribs
and people glare,
but I do not think that
the human things
are vulgar things.

And I've been
meaning to ask
if you have a pulse
under all those limping words.
If you ever say things
like battery cables
clamped to arteries.

I bet you'd be
ripeness turning to rot
under the heat of my hands.
I bet you sound like me
in a darkened room.

✱✱✱

Kelly Collins is a young poet from Central Oregon. She takes great inspiration in the beauty of the high desert and struggles with bipolar disorder. She's also been published in The Rising Phoenix Review and The Mulberry Fork Review and is the editor of The Dinner Table Review. Find more of her work at manicdepressivedramaqueen.tumblr.com.