The Long-Fingered Draw  

How satisfying, the decisive snip through something thick.

Did you imagine it as construction paper children? Dried reeds by the river?

I want those instruments to be my home.

I want to hear the storm crack and suppose tectonic

swell when the table gives out under me and you

hold eye contact. Take three trains.

Come over and tell me I don’t need brass knuckles to kill this spider.

Tell me again.




There have been inventions

since last month. Colors,


salt craving, meat

wrapped in paper. Pine


trees do receive their tenants

and he can’t stop


sleeping, in this heat, my syphon

hand. I can’t decide.


Do I become small again,

a little boy blue?


Gild toy horses

with elephant paint


and trespass

again, against him?



Across the face of my spectator

love is a bleached strand and amateur

cast, a misplaced wrist meant to keep me

still on this dock, fish hook in neck. Sure,

I’ll pat down the accident. But if I can’t

detach, tangle harder. Spray perfume

on the sand, plant new lilies. Burst

open the bulb and render the fat.



K.T. Billey was born and raised in ruralAlberta, Canada, and moved to New York to study poetry at Columbia University, where she is now a Teaching Fellow. Her poems have appeared in Phantom Limb, The New Orleans Review, Ghost Proposal, Prick of the Spindle, the sensation feelings journal, and H.O.W. Journal. Her translations have appeared in Palabras Errantes and she is proud to be a Girls Write Now mentor.