this supreme and the words that weren’t the words to her song but to this.
this disco and the grin that a globe makes despite its square, mirror tiles.
this salt, this sea, this underwater fire, let’s get it right this time.
this five, this spitting second hand. this is where. this is when and where.
this is when i asked god whether he was the sun and the brain or only one
and he mirrored the answer back to me. this wire. this tightrope. this house
and this mirror to the house next door. this is the story of an angry woman. this is not.
this coast, this shore filled with bloated fish, ugly and pregnant,
this summer and we couldn’t swim, the tide could barely roll in and so
this lifeguard who had these big arms and this handsome face told us that
this beach was closed and we went home and i walked home and this song,
this very song, played in my headphones and it was this one. this serenade
this boardwalk this glut this noise that it doesn’t make this hot this too hot.
Kimberly Ann Southwick founded and edits Gigantic Sequins, a literary arts journal. She lives in Philadelphia and teaches grammar and literature. Her poems have been published by Barrelhouse, Big Lucks, Word Riot, and PANK. Follow her on twitter @kimannjosouth.
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