Illustration by Jorja Garcia
Writing in the sun n all of a sudden problems don’t exist
shadows illuminate the contour on my face n I am perfect
We are perfect
The walls between me n the world seem blurred ever since that acid trip
which maybe explains why I usually take on all problems as my own
But today,
Today, the sun is shining after weeks of decay
birds sing in the streets n I don’t wanna strangle them
first sip of my iced coffee’s the perfect temperature
Today, I’m reading someone else’s poems with pure awe n no resentment that they can cough their
phlegm on the page n the spit splatters form words in a way that makes sense
My blood is the same temperature as the wind that cradles my breast
Today, I don’t mind that they exist
That there’s no 9 o’clock shadow crawling up my cheek
No spider kisses for my lover
That I forget I don’t have
For the first time, I’m not trying to write a poem to be perfect
Because I know I am
I don’t mind the grass stains on my jeans
or that they’re tight from the extra 15
I don’t resent the way the sun amplifies through my glasses like they’re readying to turn ants to ash
or that I can see my reflection in my laptop screen
I don’t mind that I see my father’s nose n grandma’s eyes
but can’t see any of my Bunica
I forget I’m in the part of the country with no wild geraniums
or honeysuckles
Because when I make angels in verdant grass
dye my fingers a lush green n brown
I swear I can smell them
underneath the sultry scent of summer
(viscid rainbow icee chins
bounding for the jingle
sweltering tar n cigarette butts
salt n pepper pavement
cool in ur nose but hot on ur skin)
that I wish I could worship
because it covers up the smell of vinegar—that’s something they don’t tell you about gaining weight
I don’t think you could find me blind anymore
Do you remember
jump rope dandelion chains
wild raspberries in central park
crabapples in riverside
goats in the summer
raccoons in the winter
Are the ghosts in my closet
the same as yours?
Do you wish you’d never left
the only place where you’re too busy to forget the world is melting
Where you watch the ants march n don’t envy their simplicity
n single-mindedness?
Do you remember fishing in turtle pond
n only catching that one goldfish
again n again
Until its body rotted
n it looked more carrion than catch
Do you remember fairy watching in the rain
until our clothes were soaked through
because the pixies needed the respite more
or
Getting thrown into Lasker
until we could do the dead man’s float
without floaties
The tree’s fingers choke the sunlight n a kid scooters past n I see myself 15 years ago on my pink barbie
scooter in bright orange bike shorts
luminous, unabashed
frivolously ebullient
Skin my knee n still
I go on
Scooter skids into shadows
the very same that grip my figure so tightly
a tube of toothpaste about to erupt
turn my head n see ur teeth
know they’re forming a smile
cause u usually catch a glimpse
of my daydreams
c'mon
let’s get ice cream
watch it melt on our hands
hey
i wanna see you bite
the eyes off
the spongebob popsicle
please?
Sophie (they/them) is a Religion Major at Barnard, focusing on the intersection of Religion and Social Justice movements in America and liberation theology. They once were ranked 500th in the world at competitive Tetris and are an avid Dungeon Master. In their free time they draw, read, write, badly play guitar, collect records, take black and white photos, and make linocut prints.