I Will

everyone is getting married & i wonder if i am dancing okay. are my feet too far apart? i am having trouble staying warm. once i wanted to be the greatest & now i just want to pay rent on time.

i bet on losing dandelions. i have nightmares about the dead bird in your driveway. this month i’m haunted by tangible things: virgin mary taped in the window of an abandoned house. overgrown bougainvillea & light pink stucco. fresh oranges spilled on faded linoleum. the bee sting on your thigh. the grand piano broken in the alleyway. blue flamed incinerators at the county landfill. the tower in a tarot spread. the candle burning upside down. all these pillars of light.

i want to be soaked in blue. i want to give closure a shape. i want all the car alarms to stop. i want to think of god & not feel sick.

in a different poem i make my bed each morning & show up everywhere on time. i don’t ignore phone calls. i don’t forget to lock the front door. i remember the names of all the planets, even the dead ones. i am good at saying no.

in a different poem we’re back at the best western in flagstaff. the moonlight forgives us for skipping breakfast & crashing the car in the forest. the chemtrails are fading lilac. our shadows bleed together. our bodies read the dark. it’s almost halloween.

i dream of our rough hands meeting. i dream of your heartbeat over mine. the psych quiz i found on twitter tells me my life trap is abandonment. i am trying to unlearn the curve of your shoulders i am trying to unlearn––i am not here to show you anything. i will not make ugly things gentle.

i will not fill your eye sockets with flowers i will not fill your eye sockets with flowers i will not fill

maxana quinn is a poet and photographer in tempe, arizona. her latest obsession is watching sylvaniandrama on tiktok.

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