Kimberly Ann Southwick

Kimberly Ann Southwick is the founder & editor in chief of the biannual print literary arts journal GIGANTIC SEQUINS. She has two poetry chapbooks, EVERY SONG BY PATSY CLINE (dancing girl press, February 2014) & EFS & VEES (Hyacinth Girl Press, October 2015). A poem of hers was recently a finalist for the 2016 Yemassee Poetry Prize. She lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, where she is pursuing her PhD in English/Creative Writing at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Find more at & follow her on twitter: @kimannjosouth.






say something nice like          you can’t stop thinking about me


the thing about fantasies      is that they make better memories


let’s go out dancing after this                      let’s do something we have never done


push quarters into a jukebox                        drink and wait for our song


go to the movies together    not watch the movie at all


or maybe go back to your kitchen                         play whatever music we want


tiles groaning beneath our feet                  and or like all the dirt in heaven


I am a terrible dancer though


                                     the thing about moving                      is once I’m gone I’m gone       


don’t close your eyes don’t               tell me about the weather


the thing about feelings         is that even if you don’t tell me what yours are


I still know you have them     inside the fabric that is your internal organs


a heart beats different colors                                               say something frightening like


you can’t stop thinking about me 







it’s mating season


I want to hug every dog on the island of Vieques


the fans in the vacation kitchen and living room       race


the kitchen fan says     whee look at me


the living room fan says          slow down wait


for the punch                                 for the punchline


the kitchen fan blinks her light like a brown out


the living room fan winks back


two fans are better than one


two dogs are too            but two roosters             are not


cock a doodle doo







the big empty of having something to empty


if nothing else there are boxes to unpack


if not books read tea leaves


let me tell you your fortune  hand me your hand


your life line and mine intersect at this feather of a crossroads


your love line is axesplit fewer times than mine         your head line


it’s bright like a bare bulb      blinding


but see here you don’t use it well  you tongue tie and shift


no one can read you except when you write it down


use your best penmanship    invisible ink and a vanishing cabinet


squeeze the nearest squid     when we leave for the sea we can never come back


pull the anchor from the riverfloor                     we’re out of here

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