This
gorgeous
day! I leave
my office to
join my lively colleagues– quick silence. Tense.
I say nothing, leave, and receive a text:
it wasn’t you–
PHEW– but our
buzzkill,
Will.
(originally published in Chewers by Masticadores, Summer 2024)
fun
Fall Guys
gonna be a good dive
pink windmills spin forever
I thanked you already
I am always thanking you
consider this next apology all ready
dizzy heights
I’ll file in the hi Sara folder
maybe I will choose to drop
down to blue under-surface
where everyone’s at I miss that
you mean I’m supposed to grab a tail
with these conveyor belts & keep it
I don’t know my role
but the walls
have googly eyes & I don’t mean
the stampede at the checkered line
these same damn races every time
I’ve never watched the procession after me
don’t worry you haven’t done anything wrong
yet
the situation’s complicated
continue
(originally published in One, Fall 2022)
Zone 28
Tara, the arcade was not the answer
(air hockey shots & bowling) such
fantastical surrendering with hollow
hunger & the terrapin match /
between dinosaurs Maureen was
drunk & screaming. typical
punch bowl. red & strung
with lights I lied about my blue
ice I said I did not have enough
but I drove to Taco Bell next door
& ate five soft ones texted
you I made it (though I live somewhere
different now) home if I move
how will the wind know
the difference?
(originally published in DREICH, Fall 2023)
Bananagrams
Hard to say goodbye a bunch
of jumbled words
this freeform
scrabble of knowing our
ups and downs two
poets at the game café
hovering over August
and detonate
this limited time we have
cloaked ourselves
we slap plastic
tiles and yell peel
racing not to say goodbye
I’ve got a few days left
in the parking lot after
we clutch each other
unsure whether to cry
in the authentic light of sunset
(originally published in Freshwater Literary Journal, Spring 2022)
Cookie Cake
I cut cookie cake with plastic butterknife
a birthday my age is showing not my celebration
in the office a long way to the center I repeatedly
say I slice some New York pizza I shape
a biscotti I am the awkward focal point
struggling through the cake rock my boss
offers me a Swiss army knife I refuse
she swears it’s clean the PEOPLE want
a show they want to see struggle I
bellow hands shaking through thick paper
plate after plate she says I’m impressed
you didn’t break and my piece is
so sweet I can barely eat I
do it anyway the work
I put in deserves dessert
(originally published in Squawk Back, Fall 2022)
Finding a Game Token in My Change Jar
I shuffle through memory for
a single midnight. What did we do
at school? Redeem gold tokens
at Swings ‘N’ Things? Cleveland led
me to lake by leash. We listened to Feist
among lilacs and buttercups. We lived
near the airport, never flew. I shouldn’t
keep money for unusable transactions. What
a concept, after the drinking started. If darkness
is inevitable, please invite me to your party.
(originally published in Dear Reader, Summer 2021)
Chicken Imitations
We made Arrested Development-esque chicken imitations
at the restaurant– bakawk, cheep-cheep, wakka wakka–
being young, I thought that was the language of love.
We always laughed across the chasm of the room
when we shut shop, squeezing soap rags into heart buckets,
wiping fresh clear streaks on mahogany tables. I vacuumed
pita crumbs and invisible dust, emptied bags thinking,
perhaps, I was on the verge of vanquishing loneliness,
that I was sprinkling zaatar on a plate of foggy shish
tawook, a taste you might return to.
(originally published in Vagabond City Lit, Spring 2023)
Thirty (and a Half)
I ate five scoops of Breyers chocolate-peanut butter
ice cream and still want more–
this, after two “meals” of beef-
flavored nothing noodles (Maruchan ramen)
I’m thirty (and a half)
When do I stop running
from “the good future”
I see it through the
crystal balls of rich kids’ Instagrams
Say it with me:
I AM LIVING IN THE PAST.
clap emoji
I WANT WHAT YOU HAVE.
clap emoji clap emoji
dancing girl emoji
But here’s the thing.
Earth spins so much it’s dizzying.
I’m running the opposite direction
to meet my past self but that fucker
doesn’t want to rendezvous.
The future called
and told me to put the phone down, you’re
sweating arsenic
and They were right. I needed
a shower to cleanse myself of everything
before the neighbors made a stink about my stench.
(originally published in SCAB Magazine, Summer 2020)
Float
Presently I am restless.
The television’s flickering
from the bedroom distracts
me from my mind’s reruns.
Last night, I learned to float
on my back for the first time.
It’s all about the ears, my teacher
said, but I am thinking about
her hands– how she held me.
My lower spine. Right leg.
The night before, on her couch,
our kneecaps sat a centimeter
apart, enough to receive each other’s
heat. I recalled a video in which
two water droplets in close proximity
refused to stop reaching for the other,
tirelessly wobbling until
losing strength. Perhaps we
both have been dating others for
too long, afraid of the aftermath.
In the pool, she let me float
into the purple dusk beneath
the bright, orange moon. I was
an egg unformed and drifting,
a body in transition shifting
wherever the pool dictated.
I cannot predict where shooting
stars appear in thin atmosphere air,
nor how far they’ll go, only that
they are doomed to disappear.
(originally published in Raised Brow Press, Summer 2020)
Earth Puzzle
We think completing the jigsaw
depicting Earth will complete us, but
4 AM we float in half-consciousness,
hoping to realign our orbit, still aimed
into vastness, a jumbled mess on the
floor. Even the dog snores. Earlier,
Disco ran across our tarot cards, shuffling
a wrangled meaning into fate. The Hermit.
The Star. The Hanged Man. I try to string
together half-correlations. I want to drink
more. I open the window and inhale.
I look into the dark and wonder
how we can piece it all together.
(originally published in Artvilla, Spring 2023)