Kristine Brown


“a little something for your pocket,”

the girl in the velvet headband

gave me a cluster of ones

well after her younger brother

volunteered to hand me

a week of groceries.

maybe because I winked,

pressed at my hip to ask,

“How’re you, Dreamboat, and

what brings you here?”

always a gathering after church

that sends my skirt riding higher

while I walk back and forth,

loving this heat and fried release—

school’s out for now

and my mind concocts poor thin milkshakes.

I remembered who chafed at wheat,

who wheezed and busted

when something on the kids’ menu

glimmered too brightly for caution.

they came again,

khakis, skirts, ties,

opals and a feather across her legs—

treating me to convenience, a sore dance

I had yet to master and learned

that practice leaves a lifetime of scuffmarks.


On the weekends, Kristine Brown frequently wanders through historic neighborhoods, saying “Hello” to most any cat she encounters. Some of these cats are found on her blog, Crumpled Paper Cranes. Her creative work can be found in HobartSea Foam MagPhilosophical Idiot, among others, and a collection of flash prose and poetry, Scraped Knees, was released in 2017 by Ugly Sapling.
Read more from her:
From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah, in Hobart
The Coolness of Your Talk, in Vagabond City

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