ST. IVES RADIANT SKIN (PINK LEMON & MANDARIN ORANGE EXFOLIATING BODY WASH)
BY WILLIAM THOMPSON
You left your soap in my shower.
You know how forgetful I am
I blitz through the supermarket
Every other week.
I use your soap.
I miss you in its scent
I slowly empty the bottle
Maybe I’ll buy more?
No. There’s no poetry in such mundane gestures.
BY MADISON TAYLOR POINTER
If you asked me how I’m doing today, I’d say
I’m somewhere between soft serve and scoop
That sweet spot between
Damn my makeup looks good and
Hiking my leggings up over my stretch marks.
Rocking that reuniting with old friends vibe
Cracking jokes about the hot mess moments
But still taking my Prozac with wine.
Better than before but not quite there.
I put in new contact lenses and I see so clearly
More comfortable in the blur.
I take breaks and close my eyes
Everything then nothing then everything again
Let’s try this again
If you asked me how I’m doing
I wouldn’t know the answer
But I’d put up a fight to find one
And I’ll laugh a little
With my wine tooth smile.
She blooms like orchids in the dark, her laugh
just this side of manic as she leads those boys
to their doom. Tangled hair like the underside
of a crow’s wing, gasoline flicker in eyes like moss.
She can get away with anything.
She tells them stories about growing up in the woods,
circles back around to the haints when she has them reeled in.
Southern boys always have something to prove so
they walk as one into the trees with their arms back,
afraid to let on how afraid they are.
After, she leads them to the water’s edge and does
a little dance for them under the moon. They stand rooted,
gutted, waiting for what comes next, but her offering is to the lake.
Green water painting her marble form like Degas would,
her silhouette like a slash of paint in the black Kentucky night.