by Holly Day
Careful What You Write
leading a group of imaginary men to a place
a stable, surrounded by angels, blissful parents
this may someday be considered such a Truth
dare me to not believe in your story, to name your star
in order to determine whether it was really a comet
those men saw streaking across the sky
an imaginary society based solely upon
your collective incoherent scribbles
a challenge to reason.
White Robes
If our love was a church,
we wouldn’t have to do everything with the lights off,
I wouldn’t shrink next to your daydreams.
Nothing is sacred in your head.
Our love is not a church,
not any sanctuary against the rough edges outside
I have tried, fists clenched tight.
Sometimes I think I’m lost without your sickness
and you without mine, one day
you will be able to look into my eyes, and I into yours
and we will be fine.
Over and Over
It was love, I went home and wrote his name
In my bedroom, “Shannon + Holly,” told my friends
That we were seeing each other, that we were a thing.
I told my friends the number of times we did it, told them, five,
Because I had gotten a guy, a popular guy
I was not too ugly to fuck.
For a week, it was just me and him, then he
Invited his friends to put their dicks in me
My mother was so happy that so many guys were calling me
Stopping by to take me out for a walk, take me.
“You’re growing up
So fast,” she said. “Don’t forget to wear a jacket.”
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