Honeysuckle

Marlo Starr

Poetry


GALAPAGOS, Leslie Long


Honeysuckle
Marlo Starr

I tried to crack the code, searched
with the tip of my tongue

for a translation that would gather
up the distance between two

coasts, that space
where we hoarded honey-

suckle in our shirts
at the blacktop's edge,

white and yellow,
not a crime until we were scolded

for thieving sugar—not ours,
but whose? I threatened to run

my belongings bunched
into the bowl of my shirt,

sticky with blossoms, down
the brick alley, broken bottles under

the slap of my wet shoelaces,
but no one came

after me, no one came looking.
Only in turning back do I face

the same old punishment,
boxed inside the hot swell

of your rage, neither of us
knows why I return.


Marlo Starr is a writer and English PhD student living in Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetry and prose have appeared in or are forthcoming from Threepenny Review, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, The Atlas Review, Monkeybicycle, and elsewhere.