The Maynard
Spring 2016

Adèle Barclay

Chou Chou

Last night the library rats read my dreams
about opening a portal to another world
where everything is embroidered green
even laundry.

Now in the greasy morning we’re all going
to threads while termites teethe on book spines.
Goodness, a thing you can palm or needle
depending on the length of your fingers.

My little cabbage thumbing pages by flashlight,
watch your radish tongue, the trail your long
hair touches, what the window promised
when you wrote your first misspelled word.