the wax paper


Hilary Sideris


is this bent 


that tows us 


each other,

sickle meant 

to dig in, 

drag, suspend, 

too catchy 

tune we hate

but hum? 


Downy little

piece of fluff,

he thought

of his last fling, 

his sweet white 

fish, his breakfast 

dish, fresh coat

of paint. What 

part of love is 

fear of breaking 

off? Of being 

flicked away?  


Filing my e-form, 

I bypass Alabama, Arkansas,

scroll down, wincing in wrist 

pain to New York. I howl 

my nasal midwest Wow

the cuckoo clock worth more 

than my credulity. Awesome.

At least my streets are deep 

in chanters, circles drawn

around that crossed-out,

porcine face. At least 

I don’t live there.

Hilary Sideris has recently published poems in Flock, The Lake, Rhino, and Salamander. She is the author of Most Likely to Die (Poets Wear Prada 2014) and The Inclination to Make Waves (Big Wonderful 2016). A new collection, Un Amore Veloce, will be published by Kelsay Books in 2019. Her website is