A poem by Sofia Sears
Working in a grocery store with a girl too wide for this town and this world
and she looks down too often.
Tearing through old heaps of mail to find reluctant bills with too many words
I forgot how to react to
the blood on the television and the croaking bullets that land outside my window like frogs splashing into a cool pond
the wind closes the door when I get up to see who’s outside
I don’t know how to
see the boy I used to kiss whose arms are bitten by wolves, he’s said, but I know that the wolves are just his kitchen knives
I can’t listen to
the girl crying behind me in the movie theatre when the man beside her squeezes her wrist so hard even I see colors
I want to
lose this world inside of someone who loves me.
but the American nightmare steals all meek whispers of “touch me” from this
worn-out and washed-dry heart.