Time Wants Time
I’m only twenty four
and the bread in the kitchen
is already moldy.
It’s the humidity
In the years that have gone by
I’ve become a weatherhead,
constantly checking whether
I should bring a sweater.
Shipwrecking conversations, asking,
“How about this heat?”
It’s so damn hot
On the warm nights
we go out to the beer gardens
and flower bars.
I wear nude shoes to be sexy.
I can’t even cup my liquor let alone hold it.
I’ll probably sleep in my bra tonight.
I want more slow motion moments, but time wants time,
and this bottle is spinning.
I need to cool off
I sit on the dance floor and everyone gets quiet.
This isn’t a declaration.
This is a showcase of my talents—
getting drunk and sitting down.
At closing time, I exit
to an unpredicted sky.
Wet and embarrassed, I find
a lush bush
and puke on it.
I'VE BEEN HIKING TOWARD SELF‐ACTUALIZATION FOR YEARS NOW
oh God
I’m gonna be
one of those people
who bonds with wild animals
when figuring out my life
while living in the woods
during my untimely death
in the best years of my life
on a vision quest
under a blanket of only stars
up in the mountains
over the rainbow
keep going
until you reach the fork
in the trail/path/grass
you see I’ve been hiking toward
nothing in particular
just hills and valleys
that go on
and on
and
Rachel Statham is a librarian and writer currently living in Western Massachusetts. She is founder and editor-in-chief of MISTRESS, an online journal of poetry and short fiction by women. She can be found on the Internet @foxymulder69