Without a hope of getting it right,
the lake, calm and round, like
a patch of mirror, spits back light
at the black vault. A rage strikes
the lake, calm and round like
you were when you broke things off.
At the black vault, a rage strikes
my brain, nothing to be proud of.
You were, when you broke things off,
going to tell a different story.
My brain, nothing to be proud of,
bolts. You’re not saying sorry.
Going to tell a different story:
a patch of mirror spits back light-
bolts. I’m not saying sorry
without a hope of getting it right.
Kimberly Gibson-Tran studied linguistics at Baylor and the University of North Texas. She's written critically about poems with "Lines by Someone Else" and has recent creative writing appearing or forthcoming in Dunes Review, Reed Magazine, Rowayat, Saranac Review, Paper Dragon, Thin Air Magazine, Saw Palm, Pandan Weekly, and AnodyneMagazine, among others. Raised in Thailand, she now lives in Princeton, Texas, and works in college counseling.
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