by Anna Ziering
Is like rolling up the dropped road like a TP roll
from the floor in the pit-stop bathroom; eating it
like Pacman at the old stale-man arcade
that brewed our kiddie cologne: fuck-ups, burn-outs, bad kids
with lipstick-stained butts (we prized those smokes: their germs, the grossness,
the closeness to sex). We were hungry
to move like men – to drop in, drift on, drop a lowball glass
on the bar, walk out into the hot door-light
that cut the smog and made everyone squint.
We wanted the trucks outside,
their roll-down windows and trailers that dragged left,
those lives that weren’t our dads’. Those men,
if they had kids, hadn’t seen them in days,
kids who had brothers they’d never know about – mysteries,
not like ours, the babies who buzzed around
behind us or the faggy ones who got straight A’s. I haven’t seen Jason in six days
or talked to his momma in four, since Wednesday 10 PM when I got to HoJo’s
and called her to jack off. She talked about groceries. When she heard me,
she said Jesus, Stan and hung up in disgust. Not the first time. I finished anyway
and splayed out on the bleached sheets. I lay and watched the dark,
the freeway’s white lines rolling under my eyelids
like cigarette wisps, urgent and burning.
by Anna Ziering
Friends, cover me with one of our delicate cloths.
I cannot work the loom today.
With smelted eyes, my darling one summons me,
burning, drawing me down:
to longing, desire that pours over
his face when he hurts me,
honey smoothed on the bruises, after.
Why is it day? Why are we parted?
Why am I here at the loom, dripping sweat on the threads?
Come, evening: the sun offers nothing.
Bring us back to each other, our sticky-wet hungers;
bring him back to me.
I’ll go home with you, darkness,
leave the silk draped on the frame like rain,
and then, my dear one, I will clothe you
in garments of my hair,
in my hot skin, I will drench you
in honey, we will wash the raw day clean, when you return,
you must, return to me,
stop the shuttles’ taunting
of warp and weft, their hungry
Anna Ziering is an MA/PhD student in English at the University of Connecticut. She received her MFA in Poetry from BU in 2013.