three poems
by Candice M. Kelsey
Seam Allowance
Determined to leave it patched and plump,
Nana pins and notches Meow-Meow
under his tail where Georgia-Rae rubbed
her own genie’s lamp or worry stone
all but worn away. Does it hurt him?
For a moment I too wonder of zig-zag
pain should the needle slip, how flesh
of seventy-eight years becomes papered
unlike vaginal elasticity at thirty-two
and Dr. Brandt’s stitching me like a virgin
again. Lanyard fingers unweave my girl’s
half-a-morning’s French braid, a tickle
of distraction always the most dependable
companion. And final sutures’ success
as Nana christens the feline fluff with twill
tape, a tag to finger-loop like Time’s
second hand, short and hour-thick under
its tail. Grandmother, granddaughter, and cat.
We know it won’t last. Know childhood
rubs its way out of Chattanooga days
spent in the sewing room of a woman
so skilled at cutting and stitching patterns,
Nana whose ovaries wouldn’t account
for cellular mutations, incisions made, or
optimal tumor debulking. Only we know
the spot where love has torn us apart.
Dear Front Porch Wildflowers,
embarrassing fourth attempt, unwitting survivors
in the tomb of unlucky predecessors,
first burst of color, strange life each morning,
first song of light home each evening,
what awaits me on the other side
of a metal screen door double locked, soft
ones without rust, you gallery of tenderness, stained
glass holiness in the sun, you choir of loneliness,
faithful friends at my feet who share
rare quiet, who tolerate Friday’s illegal leaf blowers,
LAPD helicopters, the neighbor’s emaciated
cat blooming a red-breasted sapsucker
from its chin, you floral debut of what can be,
what can grow from Assorted Seeds,
nameless sons and daughters of a recyclable box
on the steps of a crumbling walk-up,
petaled glances reflecting shared gratitude that
this is all there really is. With solidarity,
I of the lopsided watering can
spilling from distraction and,
only occasionally, despair, the woman
you water just enough.
Portrait of the World as Cozy Mystery Series
where global poverty is a relatable amateur sleuth accidentally solving crimes / climate
catastrophe is the quaint, close-knit town where food insecurity sets a light and humorous tone
/ refugees provide subplots to enrich the main mystery / where children without clean water bring
quirky humor and charm / the mental health crisis is not overly dark because a broken healthcare
system adds to the puzzle, offering clues and red herrings / the exploitation of women, if
included at all, tends to be sweet, avoiding graphic violence / wars are resolved by tying up loose
ends, leaving the community a better place / where rape, kidnapping, and genocide never make
the script / here on the studio lot where the line between criminal and victim is never up for
debate
BIO: Candice M. Kelsey (she/her) is a poet and educator living in L.A. and Georgia. She's developed a taste for life's absurd glow, really long skirts, and juicy opera podcasts. She roasts vegetables like it's a sacred ritual and wears mostly black because her late father-in-law said it's not her color. Somehow her work has received Pushcart and Best-of-the-Net nominations, and she woke up one day as the author of 8 books. Please acknowledge her existence @Feed_Me_Poetry or https://www.candicemkelseypoet.com/.