The American Journal of Poetry
"Strong Rx Medicine"®


Larisa Harriger



The sun returned this morning.
It lit the dog from within,
yellow rays blowing
out of his rib cage,
throwing light under the edge of the counter.
It polished the kitchen with buttercups and
shattered on the refrigerator door
where the risen Christ figure
flared blue hot with
an orange lemon yellow halo.

The sun returned this morning,
I swallowed it whole.
It lit me,
streamed honey from my fingertips,
flashing off of the coffee pot
which slammed its lid
on the marmalade glow of the toast.
A grapefruit of uncertain sweetness
flushed coral and,
Guadalupe, bending down
under a thousand radiant sequins,
wondered what had become of Catrina
and her marigolds.



Larisa Harriger

Bones (fear cooked)


Fear cooked until the meat fell off the bone,
and terror remained in the ivory white knuckles,
that the Romans used to play craps against the wall
at the back of the alley.
The broken bricks knocking the bones
back into the circle of staggering men and boys
(and one woman who dared to stand too close.)
The bones rolling and bouncing and tumbling
into trouble and probing
at the edge of the cobblestones
where the ragwort's broken whorl
made a valiant, if futile, stab at the receding sky.



Larisa Harriger



We're supposed to go to the poetry slam,
but no one can find a ride uptown.

Damien wants to go see this arty foreign film
that had been released in, like, three markets.
We say, no, what's the point?

Maria comes in and stops next to Damien's brother.
Hi, she says and blushes.
It's not pretty on her.

Damien's brother snorts
and goes to the kitchen for a beer.

Jason pulls out his phone and
starts looking for good Chinese food.
Kelly asks, can we get Cuban sandwiches instead?

I'm bored with all this, so I say
We should all just go to the Tastee-Freez.

Stephanie stands in the doorway.
Hints, she says, cost a nickel.
Then she laughs
and no one knows what she's talking about.

Damien's mom just stands in the kitchen -
holding that big spoon in her left hand.




LARISA HARRIGER is a writer, web geek, and Master of Librarianship who lives with her husband, a black dog, and some scenic sheep in the Snoqualmie Valley. She has most recently been published in the Pittsburgh Poetry Houses and Panolopy. You can read her occasional ramblings at



Previous | Next