by Cheney Luttich
Cupid’s festival saves babies, a guinea
a box when you dye eighty-five nipples fast
black, white ecru and drab. Cottolene
crackers knock on doors, paint five
o’clock chocolate, fleur-de-lis biscuits,
and Russian violets. Sozodont hooks
and eyes, De Long’s hump-a happy thought
for trusty ramblers, Amolin dress shields,
lactated food and woven eggs.
Chickering pianos bang skeleton freight
out of Nazareth, training the Santa
Claus luxury and his crab apple
blossoms. My wife cannot see
how he claims it will cost us nothing.
Cheney's writing is rooted in storytelling, both hers and those of others. She is currently working on a book about spending a year of her adolescence in a cult. Other projects include interviewing survivors of sexual assault to learn how their experience(s) shape the way in which they parent their children. She teaches writing at a local college, enjoys being a volunteer coach for her daughter's volleyball team, and is always up for pizza and champagne.