Candice Kelsey

Dear Finger Monkey

Crawl into my hand, all four inches of you.
All 1.4 ounces, climb up my finger.
Let green eyes welcome you like the Kirindy Forest 
of your Madagascar home. 
You can be my professor, my Dr. Madame Berthe Rakotosamimanana.
I will climb bread-leaved trees
& find tangled vines for our sleep.
Deforestation or not— 
solitary forager or not— 
you will not sleep alone.
We can huddle, chase, bite, & grab each other 
while growing impatient for our honeydew larvae sugar snack.

Dear finger monkey, let me stroke  
your exaggerated lower jaw & congratulate your carving
perfect holes in bark for safety. 
I will join you there. Take my jaw & open it: breathe your life into me,
so we can no longer be endangered at best.

Ode to Maria Shriver

If only I had known
Who you are
Who your husband is
What family you come from

I guess I would have acted
Better that afternoon
On Wilshire Boulevard
At the beauty shop

When you demanded
A walk-in appointment

Me just a twenty-one-year-old
Receptionist from Ohio

Not used to your style
Or your attitude

I hope you like your cut

My manager stepped in
To accommodate 

& remind me that
Here in Brentwood
We serve the elite
Celebrity clientele

I didn’t’ realize
The richest of the rich
Stuff themselves
On free salon cookies

Flights, Issue Seven, December 2022