Poem by Kim Dower
The sky is blue because that’s the color
my child likes to draw it. Two plus two,
if one of the twos is pregnant, equals five.
The earth is flat. Columbus, a fabulous guy,
fell off the side. He was also a loser
who didn’t build a wall to protect
himself. The saleslady with a pencil
stuck in her bun, caught me borrowing
bell bottom jeans at Morris Brothers
when I was thirteen. We do not all bleed.
In fact, blood is not always blood red.
Blood is a different color in different colored
bodies. I’m telling you and so it’s true.
Take this knife and jab it into my guts.
Columbus is still inside me
Kim Dower is the City Poet Laureate of West Hollywood. Author of three collections of poetry -- all published by Red Hen Press — Air Kissing on Mars, Slice of Moon, and Last Train to the Missing Planet, her poems also appear in several anthologies including Wide Awake: Poets of Los Angeles and Beyond, Beyond Baroque Books, as well as journals including Rattle, Barrow Street, Ploughshares, and Garrison Keillor’s, The Writer’s Almanac. Kim teaches the workshops Poetry and Dreaming and Poetry and Memory at Antioch University.