A POEM by CAROLINE GANCI PATTERSON
suburban ennui
a choice: the exaltation of solitude, however,
you have to think about that man who died
from either a vitamin deficiency or potato poison.
what are we supposed to look for when we
watch each other? the human body can sense
when rain is near. can discern a flood. a discernment
is not a sense. life can be more progressive than art. from a friend:
“my life is mostly an imagined and baseless sense of elitism
directed by bourgeois material aspirations.”
the labradoodle died. the woman who found
a finger in her wendy’s chili was a national purity test.
the cannibal fad took an extra two decades. a devil spoke
in opposition to the meal deal. the literary novel on
colonialism was interpreted as smut. we were all just
fidgeting through a feeling. the third virginity i lost was to a girl
with hennaed hair who applied olive oil to my vaginal opening
and later fucked her boyfriend underneath a camo blanket. it was
his final summer. choice happens because of interpretation.
i was only nearing the weight of their love. wanting the closeness of care
but not the responsibility to nurture. at that point the gop had
not yet won the house majority. the billionaire had just begun purchasing
mansions in potomac to expand his personal art museum. unaware that
the demolition would be its earliest exhibit. instead of, of course, the flowered
horse head. but it was his final summer. we celebrated the fourth of july.
caroline ganci patterson is a genderfluid suburban-american poet and owns a turtleneck in every color, except yellow. they have won the eleanor denoon poetry prize, greta wrolstad travel award, and they are a recipient of the kratz summer writing fellowship. their work is published or forthcoming in Bullshit Lit, The Columbia Review, Allium, and more. they are currently pursuing an MFA at the university of montana. they reside in missoula, montana and live in a blue house. Twitter / Instagram