by Kristen Holden
We said the sky was white, that was the weather
we walk through a seeming window and chime
the sound of non-grey. The city had a backdrop
a canvas a watercolor paper, skyscrapers took
with us a loosing of our blankness. Some of us
have our fingers beating on our thighs a something
piano song, a beat we’d figure with each finger.
We bent down de-valved. Then the biggest buildings,
Paintless! they cried. We’re dry and you are this way
Kristen Holden is a poet and visual artist living in San Francisco. Her work has appeared in The Bitter Oleander, SFist and Phoebe. Holden is a Feminist, works in the fashion industry, and blogs at holdenarchive.com.
Editor’s Note: Holden believes in Feminism with a capital F, in fashion with a small f being anything but small, and in banana slugs, which is how I have the pleasure of knowing this multi-faceted artist. She is quoted as saying: “Plan things, then make things.” And she does just that, drawing from a world of art and urban living to make poetry happen. You may add model and Russian-trained dancer to her bag of tricks, but for today, let’s focus on her poetry, as it ought to be.