an ice tongue sliding down penguin wing
slow melt sugary gas station slushie

Bluebells not offered to her due to snark
the Autumn equinox lies: cold then blister hot 

you sound like you ate too many red hots 

Crux flies nowhere tonight the grass wet and heavy

forsythia pulled apart and petals played
tiny fairy dog tongues 

she pulls dandelion fuzz to make a sweater
burrows into dirt to find later 

you sound like you got lost on the trail 

she overhears a human child ask her mother
a question for which there is no answer to

you sound annoyed 

jazz hands to an angel’s combat boot
stomp, a smirk and gulp light champagne

she wants tiny, to put in pockets, to manage
dental appointments on mushrooms 

you sound like you had too many Easy Eddy’s

A retro wrapped mint under rocks
the plastic could be made into a rain slicker 

blow this forest and all it’s massiveness

a slow kiss with tongue
is the same in all worlds

you sound like you need some 

It’s hearing these words:
I think about your wings all
the time.

Jennifer MacBain-Stephens went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and now lives in Iowa where she likes to rock climb. She is the author of four full length poetry collections and twelve chapbooks. Recent work can be seen at or is forthcoming from The Pinch, Cleaver, Yalobusha Review, Zone 3, and Grist. She also hosts an indie reading series sponsored by the non-profit organization Iowa City Poetry called Today You Are Perfect. Find her at http://jennifermacbainstephens.com/.