PLAGUE POEMS

Plague Poems

Cassandra Traina I woke up two hours later than I intended. At noon, I nished a novel set in Africa, which ended with one woman dis guring another by throwing hot oil on her. On my walk––which I like to take at 4 pm, to spend some time with the setting sun–– I saw a handsome man and a very large and frightening parked van with two men sitting in it. On my way home, I met a WWII vet named Bill Matthews. He asked me never to call him Matt, like his grammar-school classmates always did. I promised I wouldn’t. He said, “have a nice evening, Nancy,” and we parted ways. Later, for dinner, I prepared salmon that made the whole house smell like the Grand Central Market, with its sh stalls positioned just behind the glass entrance. But I didn’t marinate the salmon long enough, and so it wasn’t as avorful as I’d hoped. Sophia told me I have a problem with everything, so I turned the night into a problem: a trap I o en set for myself.

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Who knows what will happen tomorrow.

I cleaned up the cat puke with paper dinner napkins because that’s all we had. You accused me of telling you what to do, and then you threw the blue bottle lled with the homemade vinegar cleaning solution at my stomach, to prove your own free will, I guess.

I folded the laundry we did together when neither of us had enough for a full load. You told me whose socks are whose because you see those kinds of details better than I do. And a er the wash had been separated and put on our respective beds, I ran my ngers, dipped in olive oil and honey, through my hair because it’s been very dry lately. None of us had seen Sleepless in Seattle, so we watched it. It was underwhelming.

I moved my toothbrush to the downstairs bath-

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room–– and the corporate toothpaste Sophie refuses to use. I like the chemical zz. I hate peppermint; I like wintermint, whatever that is. Our sink is in the corner of our bedroom. Our toilet is behind a door to its right. My nighttime routine didn’t work for all parties involved. I brush my teeth in the downstairs bathroom now. It’s easier that way.

It’s all land. ere is desert in every direction, any way you wander. ere is a saturated word: wander. e world can feel claustrophobic, but not so much as the in nite celestial space.

I have a hard time sleeping on my back. It makes me feel restless and nished. Bury me on my le side.

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I’ll be more comfortable.

My mother always told me, “you have to let your vagina breathe when you sleep.” My cunt has its own respiratory system–– it’s own pulse, too. I am just a respiratory system and a face.

When you look at me head-on, I am really beautiful. I hate to think what the back of my face looks like. Someone sitting behind me on the train must have watched me eat that croissant, and slurp back the black tea from the dining car.

e solved future I have been working on all morning seems futile. I may not be fertile. I may be too fertile. I will breastfeed welcomingly; my le tit is leaking milk already. My gynecologist wrote me a prescription for a mammogram for that problem in August, and now it’s

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January, and I still haven’t gone. If I don’t die from that, I’ll die from covid or possibly an aneurysm. I make my own doctor’s appointments now. I have for three years. And I don’t say “wait wait wait” anymore when I get shots, but I did pass out a er giving blood in June. I didn’t believe in passing out before that––I didn’t think it was real. I am withering away from lack of use. at is dramatic, but I’m rarely as dramatic as I used to be. I used to play a knocko candy crush. Now I play expert sudoku, so I guess you can say I’ve grown.

Dad says, “actually, Kamala is a lot prettier than people say she is.” Hali says, “you have a mental illness, Cassie. Fuck you.” Sophia says, “can you please not? Just for today.”

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Mom says, “wow, he’s swearing on a really big bible.” Hali says, “I’ll never forget that you’re ruining Sophia’s birthday.” Sophia says, “I read somewhere that Marilyn Monroe was Mexican.” Hali says, “I really don’t think that’s true.” I say, “ I can’t believe you guys had Shirley Temples last night, and you didn’t make me one.”

I can’t help that I’m attracted to Michael Shannon, even in this horrible lm, and I can’t believe I saw you, of all people in Times Square, of all places. Times Square is a hell, and you are surely a demigod.

I was sweating, and my shoes were breaking.

You looked so cool, and you were surrounded by so many people–– none of them seemed to be strangers.

Stumbling out of the France Visa Application Center

I didn’t know what to do with myself or where to

go.

I saw a play, a matinee with all the old couples

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who complained about the heat and then the cold and then the temperature of their white wine. Michael Shannon played Johnny, and Audra McDonald played Frankie. I thought an orgasm was about as close to merging as possible, but it’s really closer to leaving the room undetected.

You never gave me an orgasm, but I gave myself one the night you kissed me, later, a er I walked home from the party.

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