My mother is wearing her new
turquoise jacket - a warning flare.
My brother, his bedclothes.
I do not remember what my father
is wearing.
A child throws his grandmother's voice
in walkie talkie style cinema.
Girls with blue hair
go where you'd expect them to.
Paperbacks spilling dirty words
on my red shoes.
A woman finds a box for me.
Languidly, I uncurl -
surprise lilies in the rain,
the white bread days of August.
In this height of splendor,
I am tense.
Every woman with thick bangs
is you. Every Saturday
without a second cup of coffee.
Every wish
mumbled into a snowstorm.
I am a tiger, yowling
in a gauze cocoon.
I am waiting for
the avalanche of smoke
that will smother me.
All this pink
cannot live here.
turquoise jacket - a warning flare.
My brother, his bedclothes.
I do not remember what my father
is wearing.
A child throws his grandmother's voice
in walkie talkie style cinema.
Girls with blue hair
go where you'd expect them to.
Paperbacks spilling dirty words
on my red shoes.
A woman finds a box for me.
Languidly, I uncurl -
surprise lilies in the rain,
the white bread days of August.
In this height of splendor,
I am tense.
Every woman with thick bangs
is you. Every Saturday
without a second cup of coffee.
Every wish
mumbled into a snowstorm.
I am a tiger, yowling
in a gauze cocoon.
I am waiting for
the avalanche of smoke
that will smother me.
All this pink
cannot live here.
✱✱✱
| Sarah Marchant is a freelance writer and poet in the Midwest. A lot of her time is spent making playlists or watching tattoo videos on YouTube, and she's probably drinking coffee right now. Keep up with her work on Twitter at @apoetrybomb. |
