LOCAL POETRY

Him and I will be the death of me

His touch I have craved for far to long those fingers that made their way from my hair to my waist grabbing hips that ached to be loved thighs that longed to be caressed He was waiting for a call back a message ingrained in a substance I refused to take something filled with such disillusion dripping sweetly and covered in sweat I’m now torn between caving into the same old habits of disassociation or taking one last plunge into that dark abyss I said I’d never go back to He called me his beautiful distraction when in reality I was the one begging for something to keep my mind busy something to keep my lips wanting more when asked if I still felt the same the truth rolled out of my mouth like a bedtime story told long ago malignant is the term I would use for his affections I can no longer allow him to swallow me whole he ate from from the fruit that had spoiled long before I gave in He said to leave everything better than when you found it He found me broken and some how left me beyond repair

- Jo Fine Bow

Everything seems like a corner.

There’s always something coming up around that bend, inching toward. The road straightens, briefly and we get the glimpse of what’s coming.

Sometimes it’s nothing. I like those sometimes.

Sometimes it’s a lot of likeable somethings. I like those sometimes too.

Sometimes it’s a boulder on the road that missed you by seconds and you have to turn around, shaken - but alive. I don’t always know how I feel about those ones.

But the drive continues. The road curves, straightens, curves, etc. I sometimes just want to get where I am going. But if I’m being honest, I usually know where I’m going. That’s the least interesting part of the trip to me. The mystery is kind of fun, I guess.

That doesn’t mean I don’t hate the boulders, and the occasional unlikeabale somethings awaiting around the corner - but somewhere in the not knowing, there is release. Often followed by a bracing of the steering wheel - the release never stays long enough.

But if it did it wouldn’t be a release. It would just be another mundanity from which we’d need respite.

So I drive. Expecting the boulder. Bracing for the mixed bag of what’s to come. Knowing that with every dust cloud of tumbleweeds and rocks, there’s a secret release hidden somewhere on the other side. But you have to look for it. It’s like finding a secret mushroom in Super Mario Bros.

It won’t come to you, you have to snatch it up before it falls into a ravine. That’s on you. But don’t feel bad if you miss a few along the drive. They are hidden all over the world. And more are being made every second.

There’s one now! Shoot. Missed it…

- Ellen Anders