POETRY
The Plaid Skirt I Keep Forgetting
Jamie Haddox

I am melting from realizing some
unfixable holes in this carton of dreams. 
Someone carried down my teenage
ambitions in a sack and slung them
onto the floor. A pack of kids better
off with train tracks than debit cards. 
I still suffer those same things that cut me
out of myself: a car full of people I know
passing me by, a whole pot of guilt
bubbling on the back burner, and a
hard on for futile pursuit cartoons. 
I went walking through pockets of smoke, 
searching the warzone for nostalgia, 
and finding those old wants gagged
with a ransom note. I was so envious
it only mattered that I never got a return
or a take away. A girl with nothing
but a word gun, a rock gone rolling. 
I want the moments that once belonged
to me and I’ll take them from any teenage girl
who doesn’t see it as a frozen second to seize


Jamie Haddox vehemently believes that a little mud isn't as bad as a bloated politician, a rash you can't hide, a tooth headache, or unrequited love… better to get a little dirty. She is unsure, when it comes to cranes and herons, what law velcros one or unhinges the other. 100 percent of the time, she will choose a leftover hibachi scallop over beans from the garden.