Two Poems by Kiki Adams

by Kiki Adams

The Flood

The sleepy webbing

draped on us is Gotham

just past some forgotten

Golden Age, when sun

shone on alleys and dappled

warmth on children playing;

just past seediness first

sprouted from the shade.

We wish for a river boiling briny

to swell and pour gossamer fish

through the streets, startled

down alleyways to wash

this wasteland into Atlantis – clean

and peaceful around the drowned,

trapped in an eternity-moment,

swimming against the windows.

Walking Home

The shapes of cats

slide between shadows

cast by the orange

of Sunday midnight.

A breeze, a stretch –

a Tom leaps for a phantom rat.

The moment disappears

and the poet is left

staring at projections.