Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco’s work has appeared in or is forthcoming from The Curator, decomP, Right Hand Pointing, Star 82 Review, The Mas Tequila Review, Word Riot, Hobart, Paper Nautilus, and the Tule Review.

The Neighbors

They are an open
window

with a pink sheet
for a curtain.

Trying to see inside the house
is like staring
at the slit
of a small shell—
smooth pale walls.

There are soft voices
on hot nights

blurring like rain,
hiding the street.

Our houses are the same
and face each other.

Morning Sky

 

We couldn’t tell when it would happen.

The sky would tap
The windows, pink as fingertips.

An accident of clouds and light, as
Cold as thinning air.

It wasn’t anything
That anyone could touch.

When people tell me ways they
Found a god, I always think of clouds – of my bare feet
Flat on the floor

All the windows lit like love.

photo by: benjaflynn

Red Shirt

The streetlight, white as copy paper,
tilts between the tree’s big arms,
slides out like spilled wine:

I think it is the moon for twenty
minutes. Above us, stars are marking steps
of sky, dancing some waltz no one is watching –

here we push back Citronella smoke’s
sad breath; I can’t remember where
you got that shirt, the red one, it’s
the color of a picture of a heart.

photo by: vj_fliks