December 2016 - Comments Off

Ada Guzman

photos I took last winter

That Thursday she sat in that café. That café near that stormdrain spilling into the sidewalk cracks where passersby strut stucco. That orange rind missed the trash bin. She turns to look at you and now you are thinking there is nothing interesting I can say to her about orange rinds except their mild association with short-lived disappointment. Now you are lead-footed and too aware of your own sudoriferous glands. Unfortunate. She says hi my name is June. Her name is June because you sweat too much in front of her. Even your private thoughts are embarrassing. Now June is staring intently at your throat. She says there’s some snow on your adam’s apple is that cold? You say haha it’s sure snowing early this year. You say sorry I immediately am talking about the weather like doesn’t it always seem to happen like this. She smiles and turns to get her coffee. This is like high school except you’ve spent so much time trying to forget so much of your time in high school so maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just like that Thursday. Maybe it’s just about 6pm and outside the window the scenery keeps snowing.

Published by: in Issue 1 : Fall 2016, Poetry, Volume 73

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