Holly Day lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota where she teaches needlepoint classes for the Minneapolis school district and writing classes at The Loft Literary Center. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawai’i Pacific Review, Slant, and The Tampa Review, and she is the 2011 recipient of the Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her most recent published books are "Walking Twin Cities" and "Notenlesen für Dummies Das Pocketbuch."
Braille and Love
the spot where someone dared you to put a cigarette out
the jagged “x” just under my skin
like anthropologists, we explore
the keloids I got in ninth grade
the circle of blue dots on your arm, all the damage
a twelve-year-old can do with a safety pin and India ink,
the badly-knit bones broken by a drunk stepfather
fingertips exhuming each other’s damaged pasts.
My Skin With Your Beak
I stopped at your table and looked down. Sand stuck to my skin
such tiny pink scared eyes, perfectly-coifed hair. Look at
me. I kissed you back, brushed the sand from your face,
prepared to dance. But the music was so bad, so sad
the violins a reflection on the massacre of 1936
and our imperfect night. Crematory ash
fell to the dark bottom of a miles-deep crevasse
I waited until I felt the impact.