But I followed instructions! Wring blood from a stone and use the drops as lip gloss.

My new job is branding mascara. This one’s called “The Tracks of My Tears.”

At the baby grand, my pearly whites dissolved to box-office poison.

Sawzall, Adderall, bias-cut satin: recipe for trouble.

You can let yourself down from the ceiling. My name is no longer Miss Muffet.

Now I’m known as Queen Charlotte II. In my memoirs, your chapter is “Some Pig.”

A thousand years after disco died, we gaze at the glittering sphere.

Every ceiling fixture we own is a folie de grandeur.

I might have known we’d come unglued in the Palace of Particleboard.

The baptismal river of tears flows to an azure ocean playground.

From Formula One to formulaic before the engine cooled.

Headless torso, knees and toes in the bullet-ridden sky.

Round three and the love is off. My fingertips are numbskulls.

A right-handed woman is always in search of a missing right-hand glove.

Kateri Lanthier

Kateri Lanthier's poems have appeared recently in Event, Hazlitt, The Fiddlehead and Best Canadian Poetry 2014 (Tightrope Books). She won the 2013 Walrus Poetry Prize, the Editors’ Choice in Arc’s 2016 Poem of the Year and third prize in the London, England-based 2016 Troubadour International Poetry competition. Her first book is Reporting from Night (Iguana, 2011). Her second is Siren (Signal Editions, Vehicule Press, 2017).

Latest posts by Kateri Lanthier (see all)