Kristin LaTour’s most recent chapbook is Agoraphobia, from Dancing Girl Press (2013), as well as two others: Blood (Naked Mannequin Press 2009) and Town Limits (Pudding House Press 2007). Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Fifth Wednesday, Cider Press, and Atticus Review. She appears in the anthology Obsession: Sestinas in the 21st Century. She teaches at Joliet Jr. College and lives in Aurora, IL with her writer husband, a lovebird, and two dogitos. Readers can find more information here. ---------
Fortune
Girl couldn't stand the smell of smoke
that clung to Father’s clothes and yellow teeth
from sooty clouds of burning leaves or tobacco,
the way the sweet stench could cling
to her hair, how she'd have to peel off
its stickiness, like pine sap, in the bath.
Father said Girl's face was severe, her
sloped nose and slash of a mouth, when his cheek
was close to her own, the door cracked open
and the light fractured and spreading like broken yolks.
Mother was always sloppy, dropping dishes and
making grotesque patterns of gravy over
their decal flowers— greasy brown and petal pink—
Girl's stomach tightened every supper. Not even
Little Sister, with her plump plum cheeks and
straight toothed smile was safe. Father's palm
that clung to Father’s clothes and yellow teeth
from sooty clouds of burning leaves or tobacco,
the way the sweet stench could cling
to her hair, how she'd have to peel off
its stickiness, like pine sap, in the bath.
Father said Girl's face was severe, her
sloped nose and slash of a mouth, when his cheek
was close to her own, the door cracked open
and the light fractured and spreading like broken yolks.
Mother was always sloppy, dropping dishes and
making grotesque patterns of gravy over
their decal flowers— greasy brown and petal pink—
Girl's stomach tightened every supper. Not even
Little Sister, with her plump plum cheeks and
straight toothed smile was safe. Father's palm
pressed down her chestnut curls while her eyes leaked
like broken porcelain teacups. Had Girl been able
to read her horoscope in Father's paper, she'd have choked
on laughter. Look for fortune where it is least
expected, at the crossroad of pain and opportunity.
like broken porcelain teacups. Had Girl been able
to read her horoscope in Father's paper, she'd have choked
on laughter. Look for fortune where it is least
expected, at the crossroad of pain and opportunity.
Palm Reading
This line is a dry riverbed
that led you to the Great Lakes.
Its depth and curve, here,
like a wave in a fall storm
crashing against Superior's
rocky and pebbled shore.
And where it seems to separate
here, is just a small departure
from freshwater. Inhale
and you'll smell salt.
Where these two join
in a V, with two curves
below, are the mountains
of your past, pointing to waves
in your future. You were born
to be in water, and you shall return.
But of your future,
water and rock are fighting
one element wearing away
at the other, one becoming
sand and the other
ice, beaches covered in agates,
I cannot see which will win.
It's both snow melt and monsoon
floods. Wait a little longer.