Robin Gow
survival poem
when i can’t get up
i pretend i am just
a swarm of beetles sprawled
across a bed sheet. i scurry
the walls towards the bathroom
to wash my face. no one can tell me
there is no chance of hail today.
i don’t believe in violins
& i’m skeptical lately of mothers too.
what am i going to do with all this
peanut butter? this is a serious question.
i have a whole shopping bag full of it.
i’m scared of running out. i met
an octopus last night in my dream
& it blinked its eyes like a human.
i was in a tide pool & star fish
kissed my feet harshly too.
the sea urchins turned to sushi
& floated to the surface. i will eat
ice cream for dinner tonight
& the spoon will fall heavy
from a hole in the ceiling.
my brother is coming soon
to help lift all my dragon bones
& carry them away. i miss
my sandals i broke last year.
will i miss the parking lot
behind my apartment? the better question is
will it realize i am gone?
how long will it take
for the pigeons to gossip?
the block i live on is mostly populated
by singers. every night they crawl out
with their microphones
& their sadness. i am a poet
& thus, i keep my sadness
to myself. i need to save it
so i can write it into poems.
when i have a good fresh sadness
i’ll save it in the freezer
& unthaw it when i need
a strong emotion. i have felt
grey lately which is to say
i eat nothing but dry cereal
with my bare hands. the blue clouds
have gone rotten with age.
you need to stir the pot
or the macaroni sticks to the bottom.
whole buildings disappear you know?
they just go away. there’s a vacancy
on my street right now. people come
& stare into the ruin dreaming
of their own impending disappearances.
they take pictures & hope to see ghosts.
i know it’s no use. all the ghosts are
playing mancala in my living room.
i am alone so i let them in.
i told them to keep it down
& i will keep them as long as they want.
they eat jam from the jar.
bananas do not in fact grow on trees
like they told you. you are rewarded bananas
for good behavior. this is why i am kind
& i always have bananas
in the green bowl on the shelf.
—Submitted on 05/13/2020
Robin Gow is the author of Our Lady of Perpetual Degeneracy (Tolsun Books, 2020) and Honeysuckle (Finishing Line Press, 2019). Their poetry has appeared in Poetry, New Delta Review, Washington Square, The Tiny, About Place Journal, and other journals, as well as in anthologies including The Impossible Beast: Queer Erotic Poems (Damaged Goods Press, 2020), edited by Caseyrenée Lopez and Willie Weaver. They hold an MFA from Adelphi University and live in eastern Pennsylvania.
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