Open your day up
like a newspaper or a bodega
don’t cross your legs—varicose veins
that subjugation line, payment for payment of our
own castration, mitigation
tamping down our hurt to
sip from the teacup
of second class citizenry
she has short hair and heavy boots and I’d like her to kiss me into the
lines of a Joan Miro
I see her from across the library lobby and I am in love with her.
we are geometry, fit together
not always easily but in rectangle and purple
did the coral reefs survive? I ask
Isabelle, sitting next to me, Isabelle checking her phone, I see Isabelle, these days
from beyond the mask of screen, and I fear the worst:
the coral reef is dead.
this is a bad year for the earth
a bad year for people who do not
look like me
i bake eggplant while everyone sleeps
and when they wake up, it has exploded
because I have been taught to meet and exceed expectation
what if i just feel in love, fell in heels over ears into bed with you and
i kicked off your heavy boots with my bare feet and we planted rosemary
in them to ground our bodies
back to earth?
When I turn to look for her, she’s gone.
You’re ok, says Isabelle
The reefs aren’t dead yet.
Molly Fessler grew up on a llama farm outside Detroit, and studied at Bryn Mawr College. She is a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, serving in Belize from ’14-’16. She is currently a medical student at the University of Michigan. Co-founder of Auxocardia, an online journal for health professional students, she can be found at auxocardia.com or @molly_fessler on Twitter.