The Works of Diandra Holmes

Diandra Holmes has previously been published in The Ivy Review and The Albion Review. She currently resides in Missouri.

All Poems © Diandra Holmes

She spits out black like it’s stale
coffee grounds, curls her lip that it was
even in her mouth. She’ll suck
it out of her teeth while she prays at
the ceiling, her delicate
esus fingering his glossy curls
while the angels stand by. They’ve
got two wings to hide their faces, two
wings to hide their feet, and two
wings to shade their porcelain savior
from the brutal sun. God for-
bid his rosy cheeks grow dark and ripe.
Lord, Lord, she prays, let no mark
of Cain enter this house and pollute
thy sanctuary. The end
floats feebly from her creamy throat, twists
into a worn song of praise.

Universal Departure

She waits for her husband
while red matches shift to blue.

Cigarette ashes swirl, smoke
slinks through the air, traces

splinters of eyes and teeth,
pieces of scattered galaxies,

the wet ring on the table.
The lacquer bubbles and chips.

Voices echo in continuous loops,
no depth, words flake, lost in scratches.

The house is hollow with ghosts kept
like old shirts. Frayed. Useless.