Poem: “The Artist”

The Artist

Hold those darts

—steady—

ready to let them loose.

I wear these balloons,

filled with crayon-colored dreams

and syrupy acrylic aspirations,

to burst over my canvas skin.

Pop as many as you wish.

But don’t you worry

about my heart;

Small

—punctured—

red stains

my breast

but one more

hole

will not kill me.

—Courtney Kiesecker

This article appears in October 2016.