Herstory

“Stardust,” a poem

by Colette Tennant
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I don’t like it when scientists call me a carbon-based life form
it makes me sound like a pencil smudge on my writing finger
a really bad child at Christmas
clumps left on the oven floor when an apple pie runs over
16284209528_07be1a247c_oa suspect’s fingerprint
coal a million years from diamonds
an accidental piano key
mascara tears
a Goth kid’s hammer-smashed fingernails
an Ash Wednesday forehead every day
the leftover eyes of a slumped jack-o’-lantern
a snow pile in a Cleveland parking lot late March
a hurried tattoo
bathroom graffiti
an orphaned chimney sweep
a heap of autumn leaves, colors all burned to ash

from Rattle #45, Fall 2014
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