Three Poems
Kris Bigalk

Previous Tenant

Bigalk Page 1
In the empty apartment, under the sink,
I find an old tea cup, ancient dregs ghost brown stain
marring the bone-white bowl, a red-orange
lipstick mark on the edge, a parting kiss.

I imagine her idle, in the early afternoon,
dripping tea on the table,
a donut crumbling in her hands.
She takes a drag from
a Virginia Slim (I found the
dusty full ashtrays on the windowsill,
hidden behind the tattered lace curtains).
She wears her pale yellow chenille robe,
a careless singe mark marring the left sleeve,
the newspaper spread like a tablecloth

before her, the light from the half-open blinds
just a little too bright.

The Abandoned Mind

You have to understand
this mind was a burden;
I didn't really want it.
Keeping such a psyche healthy
is not a one-person job,
and I was so young.
It just appeared one day -
I didn't even know
I'd been carrying
it inside my head, thought the