By Kathleen Wallish
Winter 2021 | Poetry
wake eat make a living
i have my rent and papers
to prove my non-existence
in the land of good intentions
shimmer to the fever blister
and suddenly you will feel
that which you know by name
hyperreal low-energy living
the high cost of a low life american
a prescription pad reflecting the evils
of sex positive spaces
a vulgar display my body
my rules my annihilation
microplastic organs in
payday loan heaven
My father feared I would follow in Karen Carpenter’s footsteps.
He said she ate from a dog bowl before she starved to death.
My consumption habits are still a sore subject—
Ritalin, carbs, and the Internet.
Shame is always a few minutes too late.
I wish I could return Jesus to the manger
in exchange for a crystal ball.
I might be compelled to embrace my powerlessness
if it wasn’t revealed to me by a man.
Kathleen Wallish is a writer in Baltimore, Maryland.
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