Under the gaze of the dimly lit bookstore,
disguised in the form of a shift,
we’re “working”
We wear contrary attire,
for me: a blue striped flannel,
Soft, vulnerable, solemn, the ocean.
Something holy,
For her the accessory is red.
hostile, sinister an
evil, a burning building,
Here and now,
September.
All you had to do was see me
I’m a sweet vanilla latte with extra cold foam and pumpkin flavoring,
she is black coffee in a ten year old mug,
bitter and dull.
I’m all lips and
breasts and heart,
She’s knees and elbows.
My body one big lump of tingling
I am a carbon deposit,
I can become a diamond,
she’s a jewel thief.
Nothing to hide just someone to hold
The Queen is dead maybe,
I am to blame.
there’s a rift in the universe
The world is putty in my hands and
the shape comes out square,
we’re “working”
Periplaneta americana,
An ambush in the backroom,
Unwanted visitors encroach on what could have been.
You were one with me already
The worst part about this poem is that it’s all wrong. I am the poison. A dangerous bottle kept on a
high shelf to keep out of the young one’s reach. She is the antidote, the calamine lotion to rub on
itchy poison ivy, she is the clorox that leaves counters spotless. I am bitter and tart, a baked good left
out, stale and crumbly. I held my arms out to you, All you had to do was see me, you slapped them
down. Friends. Amiga. Amica. Ami. Venn. Freundin. In every language, it feels like hot garbage
coming out of my mouth.
WILDsound Writing Festival 