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95 pages, Paperback
First published February 13, 2018
"When they said Virgin, they meant Version we've left behind. I didn't trust them."
Private Property
In this minor emergency of the self,
we drink to become confused,
to swim in the dark like idiot fish.
This is a lake at night in a forest.
This is where we look up at the stains
in the sky and someone says, It’s purpling out here,
and someone else says, Someone write that down.
We’re all performing our bruises.
Chloe smiles like a specialty knife,
Bea tells stories like a bubbly divorcee,
Clara smokes like a sage in her coiffed towel,
expertly naked, third eye shining.
I hang back on the shore with Kyle.
We talk about his man in New York
while our skinny-dipping sirens
sing show tunes in the violet dark.
Later, we’re all in a clinic at 3 a.m.
handling Kyle’s broken ankle.
It’s so embarrassing, he keeps saying.
And it is: Earlier, doing the sprinkler
in a dorm room to Please Don’t Stop the Music,
he kept yelling, Stop the Music! Stop the Music!
until we understood: he wasn’t actually joking.
And sometimes the poems were like that.
When we wrote knife, bubbly, naked,
we were really getting down,
dancing hard on the injury.
Ariadne Discusses Theseus in Relation to the Minotaur
When a man tells you he’s a monster,
believe him.
When a man says
you will get hurt,
leave. Get into
a boat, out
onto a sea that everyone owns.
Who cares.
Look,
he touched the curls of his hair
before touching mine.
I didn’t question him until all the thread was gone.