Little Foundling – Kori Hansell

Little foundling,

how your diadem of ash cauterizes the throat;
it is not the sun that circles your head
but that grey frothy undertow.

I found you.
I found you

on the beach writhing in a transparent moon-pool of minnows
gorging themselves dead on the bottoms of your dry feet,
bellies pain-full of the same pale dust that took you to the end
of all things.

Mosquitoes swarming and bursting lunar around your tide-washed coronet—
clear into red,
water into wine,
boy into suckermouth.

Kori Hensell is a graduate of the University of Alabama and lives with her tiny baby cat Batty in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. You can find her at the Wal Mart pocketing lipsticks, or maybe she is at home gnawing on bbq ribs, peering at her neighbors through the tiniest little slat in her blinds. You can find her poems and essays in Big Lucks, Literary Orphans, Utter Magazine, and elsewhere. For a good e-time, e-dial

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