Fridays, The Milk, and You Wouldn’t Know About Me

by Isabel Mosley

fridays

theater seats that felt like bedsheets
better than anything you gave me
and i almost forgot that feeling
among all the ruin 
there’s a lot i’ve forgotten.

 

 

the milk

I feel like spilled milk festering on a hardwood floor
Curdled, yellow, spoiled on a hardwood floor
Better out the carton on a hardwood floor
You were in there too, I don’t know where you tore
Probably through some field and found a flat dirt spot
Tripping, all enlightened but you can’t tie knots
Tie your shoes or tie a tie or pay for lunch
Stay in school or properly put a condom on
I would rather be here on a hardwood floor
I would rather sink into the basement ceiling
I just noticed all the spots the box was bleeding

 

 

you wouldn’t know about me

Scraping the mud off my shoe on the rooftop
I climbed up after you
The whole thing was black
The whole thing was new

You were in velvety green
I laid and watched you imploding
Maybe not knowing it
We were lain shoulder to shoulder
And on me was all of your pulse

I was just counting the planets
When my grip fastened your arm
I climbed down over you
I don’t know what you could see

I meant to fall like a feather
With bricks all behind and below me,
I was red too in the teeth
Too much time biting my tongue
Too little time left to speak

 

 

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