{"id":420,"date":"2020-06-11T15:00:24","date_gmt":"2020-06-11T15:00:24","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/atomic-temporary-168416783.wpcomstaging.com\/?p=420"},"modified":"2020-06-11T15:00:24","modified_gmt":"2020-06-11T15:00:24","slug":"poetry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/2020\/06\/11\/poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

table of contents<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“root canal” by Hannah Hoover<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“accident” by Hannah Hoover<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Nana and Haha’s” by Julia Robertson<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Splitting open” by Allegra Solomon<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“creatures of night” by Natalie Dupre<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Truman” by Maddy McFadden<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

root canal<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Hannah Hoover<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

pushing my thumb against the flesh <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of an overripe heirloom tomato, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

i forget tomorrow and everything else. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

until the shriveled up old man <\/p>\n\n\n\n

(looming over bags of potatoes) <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Asks my natural hair color. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

i stare at the black holes in his teeth, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

try to retrieve whoever i was before this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

when i can\u2019t hold my breath any longer<\/p>\n\n\n\n

i pull back the hat, exposing my roots. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

he nods slowly, as if understanding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

i am afraid his teeth may pop out,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

like candy from a pez dispenser. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

i\u2019m just joking with you<\/em>, he says, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and finally leaves (no potatoes). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

i watch until he turns the corner. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

it isn\u2019t until i look back down that i notice<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the juice, dripping from my wrist like blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

accident<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Hannah Hoover<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

I came from potholes puddled by<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the cries of my fatherless friends<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the stale piss stench of Shae<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beasy\u2019s two-bedroom one-bath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three Bath and Body Works<\/em> candles<\/p>\n\n\n\n

in every room never masked the scent,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

only gave a sugar plum balm to dog shit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I spent many nights washing my own feet<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

in the sink of her bathroom, watched<\/p>\n\n\n\n

intently by the Mickey Mouse wallpaper,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

after stepping in piss or shit or vomit,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

careful not to use a white towel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We didn\u2019t talk about it, just<\/p>\n\n\n\n

breathed through our mouths,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

while her mother collected coupons<\/p>\n\n\n\n

for more three-wicks to burn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the other girls came over<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wondered if they could smell it, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or if their cloud of Pink <\/em>perfume<\/p>\n\n\n\n

was enough to smother everything. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If Shae noticed the scent,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

she was good at ignoring it,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the same way she ignored Haley<\/p>\n\n\n\n

holding a pair of scissors to my ponytail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once, one of the many Yorkie puppies<\/p>\n\n\n\n

took a leak on my sleeping bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The other girls giggled and screamed,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

grateful, as always, not to be me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sinking to the tile of the bathroom floor,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

feet sticky and face flushed,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I called my father and asked him<\/p>\n\n\n\n

when the laughter would stop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nana and Haha’s<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Julia Robertson<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Three stories of memories, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

where a dead dog\u2019s bones tremble under the anthills, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

where honey-oak branches rustle in quiet winds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Untouchable, unstained: barefoot baseball and movie marathons, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

holiday parties and swing rides to the sky. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tucked away under the midnight staircase lies mother,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

sweating out vodka and swishing leftover powder<\/p>\n\n\n\n

around the crevices of off-white teeth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This once wild-haired, bony-freckled beauty <\/p>\n\n\n\n

rots here in the darkness:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

broken dreams, bursts of tears, yellow bones. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I dream of her drowning in pills; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I dream of her leaving me on a busy street to die. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She echoes in my brain like a ringworm swirling under skin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can smell old leather and peach perfume and <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the stale breath of a once-familiar old man. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can feel the cold, soft skin of his doe-eyed wife on my fingertips; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can see the sunlight swirling through the beautiful stained glass; <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can hear the hum of the wooden ceiling fan,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the phantom clippings of a family dog that died moments before I came home:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My First Loss. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But mostly I feel bits of her in me, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when I cough or sniff or go to the doctor\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, I feel bits of her in me, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

when I breathe or cry or ask for help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh god, I feel bits of her in me, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

toenail clips and leather and peaches, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the once golden part of her skin<\/p>\n\n\n\n

begging me to run far, far away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Splitting open<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Allegra Solomon<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Today I thought about the way <\/p>\n\n\n\n

words form in our mouths\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the air pumping our cheeks basketball round <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and flaking chapped lips turning inward, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

forming mere consonants into metered sound, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

tongues sneaking through parted teeth <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and spit oozing through the cracks <\/p>\n\n\n\n

down, down, down, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

into the hollow pocket of our lower lip<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought of how the feel of the construction <\/p>\n\n\n\n

of the Portuguese word \u201ccafun\u00e9\u201d is nearly<\/p>\n\n\n\n

as gentle as the act itself\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

tiptoeing around a beauty that can\u2019t <\/p>\n\n\n\n

be directly translated into English <\/p>\n\n\n\n

but can be wholly felt in the light <\/p>\n\n\n\n

breath released mid-word,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the gentle bite of the lower lip,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and the knowledge that the word exists at all <\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How exactly are you meant to gather yourself\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

pucker and round your lips appropriately\u2014 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

to tell the person across from you <\/p>\n\n\n\n

that they played an intrinsic part in the <\/p>\n\n\n\n

construction of the You<\/em> you currently are <\/p>\n\n\n\n

without feeling you are giving yourself away<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do the parentheses and crescent moons forming<\/p>\n\n\n\n

in the outers of my cheeks not bellow admiration<\/p>\n\n\n\n

because I can\u2019t seem to say I love you <\/em>without<\/p>\n\n\n\n

touching my tongue to the roof of my mouth <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and bleeding through the next syllable on impact<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is that book I\u2019d given you still dusting above your television <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and could you not infer that my willingness to part <\/p>\n\n\n\n

with an extension of myself meant I\u2019d memorized your phone <\/p>\n\n\n\n

number the day we\u2019d first met <\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My arms are fully extended and shoving <\/p>\n\n\n\n

crinkled eyes and borrowed things and brushing knees <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and calls in threes and diverting looks and <\/p>\n\n\n\n

worn out books and quality time and shaky sighs <\/p>\n\n\n\n

under your eyes I\u2019m sorry I can\u2019t curve my lips<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and chew on vowels correctly I\u2019m sorry I\u2019m swallowing <\/p>\n\n\n\n

niceties whole and you can\u2019t shove your arm down the <\/p>\n\n\n\n

narrow of my throat and sift through all the goo for the Good Stuff<\/p>\n\n\n\n

aphasia\u2019s a lousy thing and I never learned to move my mouth that way<\/p>\n\n\n\n

creatures of the night<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Natalie Dupre<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Burned into my eyelids is the memory of my mother<\/p>\n\n\n\n

leaning over my thin body, blonde hair coated in moonlight, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

pulling a blue blanket up to my chin, whispering ghost stories<\/p>\n\n\n\n

of girls we don\u2019t know or care about. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I picture their dismembered bodies in shallow graves, severed limbs, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

sputtering bloody hearts, purple necks. Shadows spin across her face<\/p>\n\n\n\n

from a night-light in the wall, words unravel from her mouth <\/p>\n\n\n\n

the same endless twisting stream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t be like these girls, these dumb girls who trust too easily and <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

wake up dead in the bed of a man\u2019s truck. <\/em>Men chase and men coerce <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and men capture and men kill. Those are just things men have done <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and will always do. Men are not like us. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boys are not inherently bad. I think bad is a thing taught and<\/p>\n\n\n\n

groomed and played with, and boys are precursors to men <\/p>\n\n\n\n

who either know suffering or don\u2019t. Once, you were just a boy,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was just a girl. There\u2019s something romantic about our past states of being.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, I know you like I\u2019ve known my own shadow, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

biting at my heels, stretches of darkness down the sidewalk behind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You are bright glowing eyes, a hot weight pressed into my spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Give me decapitated roses and breathe vodka down my nose again,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

follow me through the dark and haul me off into uncertainty,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

where nothing exists except the two of us and your cold little eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I were a bird or an angel you might clip my wings–, stroke my chin<\/p>\n\n\n\n

until I learn comfort in this cage you\u2019ve made.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, when she finds my purple heart writhing on your floor, she\u2019ll say,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 I told you so, I told you so<\/em>. I\u2019m sorry if that hurts your feelings, that she <\/p>\n\n\n\n

assumed the worst of you. I\u2019ll lick the blood from your wound like a good girl <\/p>\n\n\n\n

and sharpen the knife you intend to kill me with if it makes you feel better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Truman<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Maddy McFadden<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Metered Dose Inhaler with a spacer clenched in the sweaty hand while<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
\n

<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n

dreaming of Nikes<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

and cherry blossoms fall like smoldering <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\n

ash as the dark-salmon-skinned baby laughs and\u2014<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wish I had a daughter to forgive me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do you feel that? An endless breeze when Eve doesn\u2019t eat<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the apple. Do you smell that? Tulips. (Ad Rem,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

but not quite).          Perfect. Soft,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

but not quite. Canted towards the sun, but never swallows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pistil is the first to shrink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The little girl thinks under her shower, <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat if there was no sin?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She fears Jim Carey in The Truman Show.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

You have to feel rage to feel good, she knows, but she hates<\/p>\n\n\n\n

when her mom chokes her for being a pig and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

did you hear about the Sockeyes<\/p>\n\n\n\n

bearing their children just to die?     Useless. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like<\/p>\n\n\n\n

treadmills or plastic plants or forgiveness when you try.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If self-respect causes pride and desolation, then<\/p>\n\n\n\n

what\u2019s wrong with grace or a different type of nothingness?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m still unsure. Irresolute. Unresolved.            Scared-of-fucking-<\/p>\n\n\n\n

everything-but-masked-<\/p>\n\n\n\n

as-a-mild-mannered-prick. Un-absolved,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I guess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

space<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The girl squeezes her eyes\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

a neck topped by sweaty curls running inside the sun and\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wish I didn\u2019t have asthma.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

table of contents “root canal” by Hannah Hoover “accident” by Hannah Hoover “Nana and Haha’s” by Julia Robertson “Splitting open” by Allegra Solomon “creatures of night” by Natalie Dupre “Truman” by Maddy McFadden root canal Hannah Hoover pushing my thumb against the flesh  of an overripe heirloom tomato,  i forget tomorrow and everything else.  untilContinue reading “poetry”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-420","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-sphere-64","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/420","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=420"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/420\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=420"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=420"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.ohio.edu\/sphere\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=420"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}