Little Parachute
by Danielle Burhop

On the Amalfi Coast, the gods
climb balconies for choice mortals.

Maraschinos blanch at our glow.
We drop kisses, tears for slick fish,

a school of murena, rippling toward light,
their dark heads pointing at an American sun.

Our sugar-and-cream sandcastle lures them.
To our seagull cry, they purr poems.

Our Juliet puffs her bosom, shuffles her feet.
Romeo looks to the trellis, reveals glittering teeth.

We paint our mouths a supple red, and fling 
our panties to the persuasive sky.

Little parachute, our lacy offering gasps five flightsó
a cotton promise with holes, a wisp of our hearts.

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Danielle Burhop is an IAS undergraduate student at University of Washington, Bothell, and is an NSCC alumnus. She has been published previously in Exile and Twice-Bloomed Wistaria. She can be found traipsing around The Loft with bewildered ESL tutees, and posting snarky tidbits at