Poems by Kim Malinowski


My Goddess Ain’t Thin


In the entire damn history of the world,
women have always had bellies.
Nice, big, round ones.
Venus of Willendorf is proof
of fat women
30,000 years ago—hot as fuck.
Show cellulite some love—
modern bellies covered, fussed at,
rejected and doctored.
Shamed into shapewear, weakness,

lack of decent medical care.
If I have a belly, how can I be strong?
And yet, women were goddesses,

with curves, wombs revered,
still sexy without a baby,
belly and hips arousing.
So, wear that fatkini,
get your belly a little sunburnt,
worship fat goddesses.
They know all about your shame.



Dandelion Wish: Update


I blew seeds into stars

            burned myrrh—stopped

burning myrrh.

            Asked why not my family?

Weren’t we in more danger?

            Our ice rinks turned into morgues.


I ceremonially slid myrrh and olibanum soap over body for months.

            It disappeared into residue.


Should my grief, dead wishes, flow down drain?


There are so many dandelions to pluck,

            seed the galaxy with, create more galaxies with—

but while wishes multiply—there are none strong enough

            to fix our family.


I talk to your mother once a week,

            sometimes twice,

send flowers,

            gourmet marshmallows,

anything to break up nostalgia,

            endless holidays smearing her calendar.


Each seed that I have blown to ether

            drifts back into my chest.

The cave there holds tight those seeds,

            but no dreams come true.

Wishes are magical on their own—

            buy we manifest, not necromancy.


I clutch your dandelion wishes.


The myrrh is gone, the seeds safe,

            but my wishes have changed.


You are all dandelion.

I mushroom.


While you dream.

            I blow your wishes.



How She’d See Me 

for Carrie Fisher 


“I drowned by moonlight” dangling, tangled by sideways rainbows, unsure of dramas typing in my head, 

unsure of “motive” and “pure” and glances 


I gasp when others sigh and frown as others giggle and contrariness comes in threes and “I’m feel I’ve very sane about crazy I am” and still sigh 


raw emotion dips 



leaps out of mouth 

dreams out of hands 



I wish we could “inaugurate Bipolar Pride Day,” I mean, mania is one step more magenta than the rainbow—and if you throw in ribbons, glitter, and bondage boots—yea pretty much got 


the dirty drip 



“strangled in my bra” would headline my fizzled eyes and the books tossed aside in the corners where the spiders read. 


And I would rest—deep forest—deep moss—”There’s no room for demons when you’re self-possessed” 


it’s true, how many demons does one need? 

ten? five? I guess twins might be nice 

a serious one for mania—keep ya reigned in 

one—one step loonier than ya to pep up depression 


“Instant gratification takes too long” 


Damn straight. 





*quotes are by Carrie Fisher 


Kim Malinowski is a lover of words. Her collection Home was published by Kelsay Books and her chapbook Death: A Love Story was published by Flutter Press. Her work has appeared in Mookychick, Songs of Eretz, BLUEPEPPER, Enchanted Living, and others. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable.

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