Patti Smith (Lost Objects)

kitchen shrinks
the mind small framed
pantry quietly slowing
tiny black fish breathe briny
oxygen alive
frying in the pan
sound scratched
lungs aplenty but minute breath
sink drips
sit herself stay herself
smaller sippy
widen water hotter
daughter husband coffee coffee
coffee coffee coffee

small photograph
for the camera
sit behind it
screen door
the picture taker leaving
is he a William or a Fred
I’m dying now he says
but still he saves her
glue holds them
the very stickiness
leaves her herself
at the bungalow
going away saying hello
to dye a red object red

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Jeffrey Kingman lives by the Napa River in Vallejo, California. His poetry chapbook, ON A ROAD, was published by Finishing Line Press in December of 2019. He is the he winner of the Red Berry Editions 2015 Broadside Contest, the winner of the 2018 Eyelands Book Award for an unpublished poetry book, a finalist in the 2018 Hillary Gravendyk Prize poetry book competition, and he received honorable mention in the 2017 Quercus Review Press Fall Poetry Book Award. He has been published in PANK, Crack the Spine, Squaw Valley Review, and others. Jeff has a Master’s degree in Music Composition and has been playing drums in rock bands most of his life.

[image: Patti Smith, New York City, 1969 by Norman Seeff]