New Poetry by Holly Day

After the Phone Call

my husband crouches in the bathtub, arms
around his chest, knees drawn up, folded so small
I could fit in the space of water behind him
wrap my arms around him, put my head
against his back, I could climb into that space
so easily
but I don't.

my husband huddles on his side of the bed
curled so tightly around himself he barely
makes a knot in the blankets tossed over him
for warmth, for extra camouflage. he lies there,
eyes open, staring at the wall, I
can only hear his breathing
when I hold my own breath.


- Holly Day 2012

This Guy I Saw Sitting in a Car

He was parked in the lot at Thrifty's Drug buck naked save for
A big white cowboy hat and a pair of dark sunglasses he was
Holding onto his erect penis and grinning proudly and happily 

                                                                                    like his penis
Was a prize he had won as a bowling trophy or at a carnival 

                                                                                    ring-toss
Or like it was something a teacher had given him for being
A real good boy in school instead of a gold star or one of those
Phony certificates of accomplishments that can be traded in
For a cheeseburger at McDonald's with the purchase of a
Large drink.

- Holly Day 2012

Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes in the Minneapolis school district. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawai'i Pacific Review, The Oxford American, and Slipstream, and she is a recent recipient of the Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One for Dummies, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently been translated into French, Dutch, German, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese.