wet as i am
my sad morphed into a massive wave. i shoved furtive poet toward shore & swam into the deep. water slapped onto my head, pushed me under, & i saw a man yelling & dragging his pitbull puppy across the concrete. i began to sink, body porous & filled with the weight of the zombie-eyed woman sitting outside the 7-eleven; we flipped grilled cheeses together until she came to work on meth, slashed off her apron with a butcher’s knife, & ran out the back door into forever. below the surface was dark & cold & heavy as if each & every street sign bearing a former lover’s name was thrown, stacked, cross-crossed on top of me. i’ve been in therapy long enough to know eventually i’ll gasp to the surface, claw to shore, command furtive poet to stop asking if i’m okay & instead to bend me over a warm rock & fuck me as the sun returns me to a hardened sponge, to fuck me until i forget i’ve ever been as wet as i am for him right now.
spilled ice cream on my ankle…
passed by a store selling hot bagels…
dogs in muzzles scare the shit outta me…
sometimes i put my finger in my belly-button for comfort…
there’s a child on the train with a bloody nose…
the same man works at the liquor store every thursday….
Raina K. Puels is an MFA candidate at Emerson College and the Nonfiction Editor for Redivider. She leaves a trail of glitter, cat hair, and small purple objects everywhere she goes. You can read her in (b)OINK, Animal, Weave News, Three Line Poetry, Sidereal, and forthcoming in The American Literary Review. Tweet her: @rainakpuels
Occulum 