Poetry/Creative non-fiction/fiction

House Recital in Logan, Utah December 12, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 7:18 am
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That room must still exist, behind a white door,

a wood floored parlor with French doors that open

into a piano room.


In the corner, three bottles of opened Merlot, a plate with

sliced carrots and broccoli next to a saucer of hummus

and a pot of warm cider.


On your cheek, a flicker of candle light. Me on your lap,

my fingers tracing up and down your arm.


The hum of Debussy’s L’isle Joyeuse. The other guests

mere outlines like ghosts.


That 1870s house with the golden etched wallpaper and lazy

crystal chandlers. It hasn’t dissolved back into reality. Back

into nothing.


The rustle of programs floating onto laps and the clap of hands.

The young performer’s bow- he would be past thirty by now.


A black scarf looped loose around your neck, dark rushes of curly

hair down to your shoulders.


The smell of fire, white paned window heavy with fallen snow.



Melting January 8, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 6:23 am
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I zip up my green coat that my step-mom

bought me for Christmas last year and brave

the winter air. Somewhere along my path the

zipper’s teeth unhook. My belly bare open I cringe.


I rip.  The zipper won’t loosen. Josh has to force it apart

in the library parking lot. I am his kid. Standing arms limp,

face distraught. Just use the snaps for now, he says. We walk


to the basement so he can show me Pott’s archives. I feel lose.

Apart from it all. I stare out the glass wall at the mountains.

They piece together like a pop-up book. Each curve a piece

of the other. At the bottom they melt into the ground.

Their bodies one eternal round.