Laine Derr

General Museum Entry

He lost her between a Lawrence and a Lam
like a sleeping child, from time to time, 
standing naked, not knowing where or who or what or why. 
When he wakes, she is weightless, quinces newly fleshed.

Slender

What will they do with the dead? 
Lying naked in a ditch, 
bodies speak to her like flowered lovers 
soughing in their sleep – slender, petal-less.   

Or I’ll Shoot!

I’m dead but he doesn’t know

Shot in the chest with index and thumb
I’m still scared of finger guns
Soft hands, soft palms killed with a Bang!

A wound, ripened by the sun 
A wound, mindful of the sky
A wound, tasting of blackberry wine

Can You Hear?

In his gut lives a piece of war
bearing a sound that does not mock
nor spare the ruin to come, a girl’s 
laugh filled with rust-stained palms,
a coldness – dry and warm.

Laine Derr holds an MFA from Northern Arizona University and has published interviews with Carl Phillips, Ross Gay, and Ted Kooser. Recent work appears or is forthcoming from Antithesis, Portland Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere.