THREE POEMS by SAVANNAH WOLDEN
Christmas Lingering
bb, I still look for you
under the shampoo bottle.
tangerine
sweet, I balance a holiday IPA
on top of my head
and still cannot imagine a tipping
point.
armchair
hun, in an alternate universe
I buy your mother dangle earrings
for Christmas and she asks if I made them.
silver rings
boy, you left my chest gashed open
so I go for a run, try not to trip.
ankle socks
bff, I feel like I left you
in the gas station 50 miles back
and you don’t have your cell phone.
(I can’t call you!! You don’t have your cell phone!!)
book bag
dude, I broke my vegetarian diet
for you to watch me eat a tray of Dairy Queen
chicken tenders.
house plant
love, I almost crash the car and this time
there is no forgiveness and this time—
Death Book Club
Sit out in the sun
and get tiny freckles
on my nose,
under my eyes.
This weather is making me think
that I could read a book about death,
talk about it in book club.
Everyone is packing
their bags, but I feel like
one of those YouTube
gag videos where you guess
celebrities based on their foreheads
would work faster.
Everyone would be like,
Oh, it’s Justin Bieber
when really it’s Lady Gaga, and POOF,
things feel easier to chew.
Fires go out. A man sings Troy Bolton's “Bet
on It” in the middle
of a swimming pool.
Family Diaries
Before the Internet,
there was a woman
who couldn’t sign
out of a college chat
room.
She didn’t want
to be a PTA mom,
so the stage was lit on fire,
car tires slashed.
The Virgin Mary was offered
as a gift, and drunk karaoke
pursued—Jolene, obviously.
What next but movies and stains
and a teacher putting Hershey's kisses
on her students’ desks.
A journal about marriage,
A computer virused.
Petals pressed onto paper
to make something new.
Ghosts in the doll room,
men in the kitchen staring
at dishes, cows in the school
parking lot, butter knives
and brushes clogged with mousy
hair.
Every summer for four
years, a tent was pitched
in the backyard, an extension
cord coiling like a snake
from the porch to the opened flap.
Four children watched Barbie
Thumbelina, mosquitoes finding refuge
on their freckled shoulders.
Savannah Wolden is a twenty-something educator living outside of Washington D.C. You can follow her @savannahwoldenwrites on Instagram.