Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

The Night We Turned to Flies


We scoured the ceilings and light bulbs,
mistook stars in ashtrays full of gum.
Some of us got stuck there,
wading through mint and tobacco.
Some of us found a hole in
the windowpane, started to sing.
Others stopped registering color,
grew docile and flat as paper fans.
You were whispering my name
in arias. You were clinging to the color
red, trapping it between your teeth.
Come you said, holding it out to me.
For us to share.


Kiki Vera Johnsonwas a winner of the 2010 Her Mark poetry prize and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Southeast Review, Shady Side Review, and elsewhere. She is currently pursuing my MFA at the University of North Carolina Wilmington, where she work as a freelance book designer.