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Summer 2023
Poems
Rachel and Claire
Rachel was walking down the street and texting her girlfriend. Rachel had allergies--or at least she thought she had allergies--but her girlfriend said they should spend the night apart in case she was sick. Rachel was a little frustrated, but understood. She’d had allergies every year. They didn’t scare her, but this was their first grass pollen season together.
On her little walk around the neighborhood, Rachel saw a group of people sitting on the porch, about to go out. Rachel’s mind flashed to an image from a film--or at least the sort of image that might be in a movie.
Specifically, it was someone seeing their partner with their arm around another woman on the steps in front of an apartment.
Rachel clenched.
She felt her anxiety climb
As she got closer and closer
To the absolute strangers who were
Minding their own business and didn’t know
That Rachel existed at all much less considered
That their cordial pre-game was causing her so much
Abject terror
And dread.
Naturally, Claire wasn’t there.
But then Rachel realized: Claire knows where I live.
Claire knows where she likes to walk around.
If Claire was cheating on her with one of these
Porch people, surely Claire would hang out in the
Kitchen.
The kitchen!
And just like that, it became impossible to change Rachel’s mind. She knew what was happening! Claire was cheating on her! How could she? After everything they had been through together? After Rachel had been so supportive after Claire lost her job! Rachel was still paying off some of the credit card debt she racked up trying to help Claire pay off enough of her rent now to get evicted. But clearly that didn’t matter to Claire. Heartbroken, Rachel wasn’t sure what mattered anymore.
As she staggered home crying, Claire sent her a picture from a baseball game. How much planning and staging had Claire put into this ruse? As Rachel looked at their mutual friends in the picture, she started to feel like the whole world was in on it.
But then Rachel drank a large glass of water and ate a full meal and started to calm down. She could hardly imagine how her brain had gotten from A to B. Laughing to herself, she texted one of the friends from the picture, “How is the baseball game?”
“Oh, you mean the one from last week?”
***
Explaining the end of that last poem
I know what you’re thinking:
“‘Oh, you mean the one from last week?’
Does this person go to a lot of baseball games?
Is that why they are having trouble keeping track
Of the live sporting events in question
Even when the one that Rachel is asking about
Is happening RIGHT THAT VERY SECOND?”
No, silly!
It turns out that Claire WAS lying to Rachel.
Claire had gone to a game the week before
And stored the picture as an alibi for later.
In truth, she was spending that evening
Shagging a friendly Middle School
Librarian named Calista
Who had a thigh tattoo that said,
“PS3553 .A655 E5 1991”
The call number for Ender's Game
In the Library of Congress classification system--
Even though the Dewey Decimal system makes
Way more sense for the sort of small collection
You would expect to find in a middle school library.
Red Flag
Red Flag
Red Flag
The poem made it seem like Rachel was crazy,
But that was just a ploy
A gimmick
A rhetorical device
So that the ultimate shock of Claire’s
T e r r i b l e t e r r i b l e c h e a t i n g!
Would be all the more unexpected.
God, what a good poem.
And a good reminder that if you ever suspect anyone of anything
You are probably right.
***
One Morning
One morning, if you live your life
Like I am living mine, you will wake
Up to find that your girlfriends
Best friends commemorative
Triathlon t-shirt is still drying from
Where you tried to remove a small
Fidget putty stain with water and
Dish soap.
And when that happens to you,
I hope you'll let me know. Because
It sounds like we have a lot in common.
Maybe we'd really get along.
***
Emily’s Idea 1
While I was at a Big Thief concert,
my girlfriend texted me:
“An idea: A middle schooler who can
Predict to the minute to the hour to the day
When someone is getting their first period.”
I asked for a clarification.
Was this a story idea?
An invention?
Just a hypothetical?
She said that it was just a really interesting idea
And she wanted to make sure she got credit for it
And now she has.
***
Emily’s Idea 2
Imagine that you arrive in middle school
--scared and a little intimidated--only to find
That your best friend has a special power.
As you walk through the halls on that first day,
She points at a VSCO girl you’ve never met
And says, “She’s gonna get her first period
In 57 minutes.” You are shocked when that same
Gal sits down in your second period English class,
Only to excuse herself halfway through.
Now imagine that your best friend doesn’t
Keep this power hidden, but flaunts it. She
Warns friends so they can prepare, both
Mentally and materially. She sells her services
To the hushed tweens who try not to let
Any of the crueler or more mocking students
See them hand her their crumpled $20 bills.
Imagine that you ask your friend how they
Discovered this power and they shrug you off.
Imagine that you can feel yourselves growing apart
As your friend seems more focused on their
Newfound fame and budding small business
Than playing video games together or trying out
For the fall play. Imagine that you hardly ever
See your best friend anymore and you don’t know why.
Then
Imagine that you get your first period.
And no one warned you.
So not only are you fucking bleeding
And fucking unprepared and scared
And surrounded by fucking middle schoolers,
But your heart is breaking.
And the blood from that broken heart
Is falling out of your damned cooch.
Pretty sad, huh?
Well, blame Emily.
Rachel was walking down the street and texting her girlfriend. Rachel had allergies--or at least she thought she had allergies--but her girlfriend said they should spend the night apart in case she was sick. Rachel was a little frustrated, but understood. She’d had allergies every year. They didn’t scare her, but this was their first grass pollen season together.
On her little walk around the neighborhood, Rachel saw a group of people sitting on the porch, about to go out. Rachel’s mind flashed to an image from a film--or at least the sort of image that might be in a movie.
Specifically, it was someone seeing their partner with their arm around another woman on the steps in front of an apartment.
Rachel clenched.
She felt her anxiety climb
As she got closer and closer
To the absolute strangers who were
Minding their own business and didn’t know
That Rachel existed at all much less considered
That their cordial pre-game was causing her so much
Abject terror
And dread.
Naturally, Claire wasn’t there.
But then Rachel realized: Claire knows where I live.
Claire knows where she likes to walk around.
If Claire was cheating on her with one of these
Porch people, surely Claire would hang out in the
Kitchen.
The kitchen!
And just like that, it became impossible to change Rachel’s mind. She knew what was happening! Claire was cheating on her! How could she? After everything they had been through together? After Rachel had been so supportive after Claire lost her job! Rachel was still paying off some of the credit card debt she racked up trying to help Claire pay off enough of her rent now to get evicted. But clearly that didn’t matter to Claire. Heartbroken, Rachel wasn’t sure what mattered anymore.
As she staggered home crying, Claire sent her a picture from a baseball game. How much planning and staging had Claire put into this ruse? As Rachel looked at their mutual friends in the picture, she started to feel like the whole world was in on it.
But then Rachel drank a large glass of water and ate a full meal and started to calm down. She could hardly imagine how her brain had gotten from A to B. Laughing to herself, she texted one of the friends from the picture, “How is the baseball game?”
“Oh, you mean the one from last week?”
***
Explaining the end of that last poem
I know what you’re thinking:
“‘Oh, you mean the one from last week?’
Does this person go to a lot of baseball games?
Is that why they are having trouble keeping track
Of the live sporting events in question
Even when the one that Rachel is asking about
Is happening RIGHT THAT VERY SECOND?”
No, silly!
It turns out that Claire WAS lying to Rachel.
Claire had gone to a game the week before
And stored the picture as an alibi for later.
In truth, she was spending that evening
Shagging a friendly Middle School
Librarian named Calista
Who had a thigh tattoo that said,
“PS3553 .A655 E5 1991”
The call number for Ender's Game
In the Library of Congress classification system--
Even though the Dewey Decimal system makes
Way more sense for the sort of small collection
You would expect to find in a middle school library.
Red Flag
Red Flag
Red Flag
The poem made it seem like Rachel was crazy,
But that was just a ploy
A gimmick
A rhetorical device
So that the ultimate shock of Claire’s
T e r r i b l e t e r r i b l e c h e a t i n g!
Would be all the more unexpected.
God, what a good poem.
And a good reminder that if you ever suspect anyone of anything
You are probably right.
***
One Morning
One morning, if you live your life
Like I am living mine, you will wake
Up to find that your girlfriends
Best friends commemorative
Triathlon t-shirt is still drying from
Where you tried to remove a small
Fidget putty stain with water and
Dish soap.
And when that happens to you,
I hope you'll let me know. Because
It sounds like we have a lot in common.
Maybe we'd really get along.
***
Emily’s Idea 1
While I was at a Big Thief concert,
my girlfriend texted me:
“An idea: A middle schooler who can
Predict to the minute to the hour to the day
When someone is getting their first period.”
I asked for a clarification.
Was this a story idea?
An invention?
Just a hypothetical?
She said that it was just a really interesting idea
And she wanted to make sure she got credit for it
And now she has.
***
Emily’s Idea 2
Imagine that you arrive in middle school
--scared and a little intimidated--only to find
That your best friend has a special power.
As you walk through the halls on that first day,
She points at a VSCO girl you’ve never met
And says, “She’s gonna get her first period
In 57 minutes.” You are shocked when that same
Gal sits down in your second period English class,
Only to excuse herself halfway through.
Now imagine that your best friend doesn’t
Keep this power hidden, but flaunts it. She
Warns friends so they can prepare, both
Mentally and materially. She sells her services
To the hushed tweens who try not to let
Any of the crueler or more mocking students
See them hand her their crumpled $20 bills.
Imagine that you ask your friend how they
Discovered this power and they shrug you off.
Imagine that you can feel yourselves growing apart
As your friend seems more focused on their
Newfound fame and budding small business
Than playing video games together or trying out
For the fall play. Imagine that you hardly ever
See your best friend anymore and you don’t know why.
Then
Imagine that you get your first period.
And no one warned you.
So not only are you fucking bleeding
And fucking unprepared and scared
And surrounded by fucking middle schoolers,
But your heart is breaking.
And the blood from that broken heart
Is falling out of your damned cooch.
Pretty sad, huh?
Well, blame Emily.
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