You slept with too many men curled like a spoon, frugal with their touch, but not their post-coital whimpering. By morning, they had sunk underwater. You gave up on mash potatoes and eating seaweed with chopsticks. You dated a motorcyclist who resembled Abbie Hoffman. His pockets were linty. His blurry eyes were never very deep. Then you turned someone’s husband into a wild horse. You spent the rest of the summer jumping feet first into S-shaped pools. Children handed you scooped flowers. You renounced your faith in slanted stars, capes of cloud, anything that hummed in the darkness. Loopy from sleep, you cut your own hair in the mirror, then pulled away like the tide. You became a lone river reflecting pearly light.
Kyle Hemmings is the author of several chapbooks of poems: Avenue C, Cat People, and Anime Junkie (Scars Publications). His latest ebook is You Never Die in Wholes from Good Story Press. His favorite band of all time is Love and he is a big fan of Roky Erickson. He lives and writes in New Jersey.