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Vanessa Kittle is 35. She lives out on Long Island with her evil kitten, Sombrero. A former chef,
Vanessa is now an English Composition professor. She published 2 collections of poetry
in 2006: a chapbook called Apart, and a full-length book called Surviving the Days of the Empire, both with The March Street Press. Her work has recently been in The New Renaissance, Nerve Cowboy, Limestone, Ibbetson Street, and A Generation Defining Itself anth.  Vanessa edits Abramelin, the Journal of Poetry and Magick.

Scherzando

today i am a small sea star
instead of roaring i move my little feeler bits
and get stuck to rocks when the tide goes out 

i am a busy inchworm measuring landflowers
under a soft gray sky with many blankets. 

maybe bees will sniff the leaves you inch with
perhaps they will make honey just for you
and then you'll become inchbear
peeking out of hibernation dreams
to smell sweet things

                                         Allegretto

                              the berry on my lips?
                              bares just doing what bears bare
                              sometimes 
                              inchbears wake with pollen on their nose
                              after being drunk on the day
                              in snuffle-honey light
                              counting marigolds
                              honey shuffling the warm spot 

                              babes with melon juices
                              sing their wet hair songs
                              they laugh as they hide 
                              bare shoulders
                              from hunters. 
                              trees are good friends, too 
                              and lionesses
                              with golden tresses

                              night moves over in a stampede
                              of stars and bare shoulders
                              darling, no one will hold you down
                              if you become a vine in the dark
                              making friends with the trees 
                              hunting the lion, holding breath, pretending 
                              to be dandelion seeds
                              wished off the lips
                              of someone,
                              with love

Fermata
 

she woke to find her cubs
gone her den empty
there was lightning
charged against the ceiling
and her eyes saw noontime
brightness in the dark
her stomach growled
she knew it was time
to proceed springtime
had come
but she was afraid
of the rain
of the sun
of the sky.
the black cave
was more comforting
she knew every stalactite
by name and smell 

and your heart is? 

in my finger
in a sieve
well- it beats gently on. 

and all at once, they chirp together

Con amore 

darling, there are sand fleas
crawling up my skirt.  sharp pricks
like pins in a ladybug. 

careful!

they crawl into our open
mouths when we smile
to live in the shadows
where kisses begin.
they eat metaphors
for sheep to count
stars and toes.
and when we kiss
they become lions
who breathe sweet fire
into tongues. 

I knew she was a princess
because her mouth tasted
like absinthe and wine. 

I knew she was a princess
because her lips became sparklers
falling on white thighs 

when I held my breath

And I knew we were alive
when our lips turned black
and stuck together
like licorice whips
in the sun.

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