strip mall nightmare

(january 10th, 2024)

there’s crushed glass beneath my feet,

white dust clings beneath your nails

the window frame is bent out of shape—

week one, you just wanted to go home

now jumping doesn’t seem so bad.

the street lamps flicker and forget

all they’ve seen pass through

…

nowwhatnowwhatnowwhat

would you listen to the rattlesnake?

would you ditch all your good luck charms?

would you chase down a pot of gold

and get high on the freedom?

you say, let’s doordash our way to happiness,

but i’ve never had room service before

and now seems like a bad time to start

…

since when do websites beg people to pay them?

you just beg to come home–

where gets caught in my throat,

where’s home anymore?

i’ve spent months scratching out replies to your letters

i’m not afraid to let you down;

i’m afraid to set you back

…

my rubber soles won’t hold

in this strip mall nightmare—

too many miles logged on the run.

the soda machine broke and you stopped

screaming in your sleep—menthol dreams.

wintergreen foams between my teeth,

i scrub and it bubbles on my tongue

…

firebombs lay ashes so gentle:

an acrid kiss on the forehead,

whispers so pretty that you’d forget.

the dust in your eyes, throat, lungs.

everything’s concealed in quiet layers,

everything convinces us to keep moving

…

look at us: a couple of slain titans,

molten fear leaks from our wounds.

you can’t train a scar out of its skin.

you can’t chain the sky down.

i don’t know how to save you anymore

…

why can’t anything be born to stick around?

With love,

Emily