Spring 2012, Volume 12

Poetry by Katie Przybylski

Peter Song

At first it was just scenery.
The waving beach, the air a captured
mist in a glass, dulled fire dried.
The dunes a dough rising out in the distance.
There are many definitions for betrayal.
The third is to fail or desert, especially in time of need.
The fourth is to reveal unintentionally.


The rain came in long, invisible pauses.
The whole soulless house on fire,
the dogs calm watching the flames.
Blue–tinged bricks with living pores. 
Once I was watching over all of this.
You take a fruit and narrow it
and make an eye.  Skin’s off.
It all falls into mush and then
that will turn into ice.
Can’t you hear that?
I am waiting for a narrower world.
A blanket, a low meadow, a drawer.
There are only so many
ways to get to the mountain,
and I would not like to walk with you.




BIO: Katie Przybylski (shuh-bil-skee, ha!) hails from Michigan, where she grew up among many automobiles and squirrels. She currently tutors and writes in Brooklyn, New York. Her work has appeared in Blood Lotus, Barrier Islands Review, Xenith, and Correspondence, among others. She wish you well.