Hanging From Your Neighbor’s Window, A Brass Key Ring

Your favorite mornings were
when you turned off

my skin—

my hair became elongated fiber

my eyes, melted and frozen,

over and over.


It became this soft

this event

of cars and medical wire,
deer crossing the street

with nowhere to go but up and over

up into the stars, over
the neighbor’s fence.


I spent my mornings smelling
expended gasoline

and sea salt, through a window
where there was

no water.

Your hands, like two Irish Setters,
kneaded into my skin

and paused,
as if waiting for answers,

as if waiting for directions
to the nearest

phone booth

to report the collision
of deer to engine.


About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: