Pale Blue

In Poetry on September 8, 2012 at 6:10 pm

We called it play, what we did in bed.
It felt like a rehearsal.
I was stand-in who worked
while the vixen
powdered her nose.

Taking her time off-stage,
eating poisonous bonbons
and exhaling noxious, lovely fumes.
I didn’t mind.
For the warmth – the spotlight.

Happily I would have endured birth pangs
and borne a pale blue baby
for you.
While you slept in my bed
I heard you whisper
an elegy to another.

I never told you.
I had a dream
where I was the smoke
curling around your sharp teeth
before being hurled into the frozen air.

I had this dream and claimed
it was a good one

laughing in a voice not my own.


Meagan Maguire is twenty-one and currently a student at l’Université de Montréal. She enjoys foreign films, witty books, strange vacations, and good friends. Her upcoming credits include “Words & Images” and “Eunoia Review.”


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