That Thief, Melancholy
by Kathrin Köhler
rides in like the wind on the back of April,
stumbles up the drive and gets carsick on the front stairs
needs no invitation
just slips her fingers in
carves eyes into the walls of the guest room,
the floor, the ceiling,
sets fire to the rest of the house "to match"
punches her fists through the windows,
kisses you full on the mouth
dripping black honey from her tongue
"sister" she says, and "mine,"
cries until even your bones are stained in the ash of her tears
slaps you for keeping your house in such a sad state
and stays anyway
sprawls herself across the sofa
so you have to sit on the floor.
Kathrin Köhler is a recent graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. She lives in Madison, WI where she attended university and currently drives a cab when not writing or reading. Her interests include exploring paradigms of power structures and social organization; the role of narrative in creating reality; how various forms and genres evoke, and allow us to contemplate, the nature of humanity. Kathrin's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Interfictions, Strange Horizons, Goblin Fruit, and Stone Telling, among others.
Photography: adapted from Urbex House…, by Elvin.