Time Wants Time
I’m only twenty four and the bread in the kitchen is already moldy. It’s the humidity In the years that have gone by I’ve become a weatherhead, constantly checking whether I should bring a sweater. Shipwrecking conversations, asking, “How about this heat?” It’s so damn hot On the warm nights we go out to the beer gardens and flower bars. I wear nude shoes to be sexy. I can’t even cup my liquor let alone hold it. I’ll probably sleep in my bra tonight. I want more slow motion moments, but time wants time, and this bottle is spinning. I need to cool off I sit on the dance floor and everyone gets quiet. This isn’t a declaration. This is a showcase of my talents— getting drunk and sitting down. At closing time, I exit to an unpredicted sky. Wet and embarrassed, I find a lush bush and puke on it.
I'VE BEEN HIKING TOWARD SELF‐ACTUALIZATION FOR YEARS NOW
oh God I’m gonna be one of those people who bonds with wild animals when figuring out my life while living in the woods during my untimely death in the best years of my life on a vision quest under a blanket of only stars up in the mountains over the rainbow keep going until you reach the fork in the trail/path/grass you see I’ve been hiking toward nothing in particular just hills and valleys that go on and on and
Rachel Statham is a librarian and writer currently living in Western Massachusetts. She is founder and editor-in-chief of MISTRESS, an online journal of poetry and short fiction by women. She can be found on the Internet @foxymulder69