“Downy Nights,” by Laura Garrison

Apr 20th, 2010 | By | Category: Poetry

The dreams
webbed and flapping, with beaks like orange shoehorns,
suffuse my head;
my head
heavy, like a Dostoevsky novel,
presses the pillow;
the pillow
flannelled and fluffed, one corner laced with drool,
enfolds the feathers;
the feathers
lost in profusion, both shaken and stirred,
long for the duck;
the duck
naked and vengeful, scented with plum sauce,
frequents my dreams.


Laura Garrison grew up in Erie, Pennsylvania, and currently lives in Maryland with her husband Justin. ¬†She sometimes writes dirty yet hilarious limericks on the walls of truck stop restrooms and signs them with the alias “Shameless Heinie,” which she considers a fine tribute to a more serious (and more famous) contemporary Irish poet.

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