We hammered tent pegs
into the ground and crawled
inside a sleeping bag beside
a buzzing lamp, then zipped
the moths away, all except
the ones crawling at the tip
of tongue, our what-are-we-
when-we-wake-up– your
finger to my mouth to shush
my brain, our lips wingtips
fluttering, fluttering, fluttering.
(originally published in Agony Opera, Summer 2021)
My olfactory nerve already overflooded with Acqua di Gio
on business cards beneath fluorescents, I did not expect
to run into my first love in the wilderness of Black Friday,
where hard rain was people. I sought a higher ground– escalator
to the bathroom to text my crush on my TracFone, until the arms
on my watch contorted a certain way. But my tarot cards flipped
when I recognized Kristen from afar, both of us unsure,
unlike in fifth grade, on the bus to Mohican, she slept
beside me, her hair fire on my shoulder, strobe lights of a confused
adolescence that entire week. Camp ended when everyone
contracted poison ivy. How to scratch the mind until snapping
back into self– in that present, years later, I thought she might be
fate and, thus, planned a coffee date, but because I did not
carve the path I wanted to take, winter came. And went.
(originally published in Tipton Poetry Journal, Winter 2021)