Kay Cosgrove (poetry)


Will It Be Okay?

The fortune in my fortune cookie doesn’t
answer the question. I’ve left it beside my bed, hoping it will
change in the morning, but things so rarely do.

For awhile, for forever, up until this moment, I’ve gotten
everything I’ve ever wanted. And like the dog

I’ve slept soundly every night. For at least 8 hours. And been fed.
I have licked the snow until my tongue burned and been dried
with a towel by my parents after a bath.

Tell me,
what do people look like after a tragedy?


New York & Notes on How To

Last month, in a bar, I talked
to a stranger,
who asked me
to put on the heels
I had taken off earlier.

The stranger told me
put on my heels in the bar
and walk around so he could watch
and the strangest thing was
I did.

This was before I lost
the engagement ring, before
I crawled on the bar
floor, my hands
bleeding from broken glass
I kept mistaking for diamonds.

And so: move to Brooklyn, be nervous
get married and worried
that leaving will mean losing,
whatever that means.


by Kay Cosgrove

Return to Issue 47