by Britt DiBartolo
Britt DiBartolo is a poet living in Asheville, North Carolina. She recently graduated with her Master’s in English literature from the University of Tennessee and now teaches research and writing at UNC-Asheville. Her work has appeared/is forthcoming in Tilted House Review, Pigeon Parade Quarterly, Vagabond City Lit, and elsewhere. She’s @frangipansy on Instagram.
Mom, you have to come pick me up. I’m comparing my break up to a natural disaster AGAIN
what if i love bombed right here all over your front door
what if i eternal sunshine of the spotless mind-ed you out of my fevered brain FOREVER
what if after i’m dead… instead of to science, i wrapped up and donated my popcorn lungs
to you true, there is a pleasure about it being heat close to the live wire of a feeling
giving the apocalypse a five star google rating time collapsing and not getting up off of the floor
even if you nudge it asking if it’s okay sometimes, you know, the mind bleeds a little
sometimes you have to part your hair a new way or it makes a mess i dreamed
a plane spilled its guts to me i dreamed an avalanche asked to marry me
my movie reaction to getting dumped: first, the street light spasmed, a werewolf,
somewhere, howled, the moon fell out of the sky and onto me and then exploded!
the reek of loss that seeps from all old breaks, and last: gratitude.
not far from the night i watched the world end like an old movie credit’s reel campy and fade in
to black: fin. i woke in a nurse practitioner named kelsey’s arms you hit your head, she said.
in the blinking dark, a crowd, concerned, gathered glad i was alive, glad they didn’t just see
somebody die. here, i play my own short movie of you splices of last moments
all the ones i couldn’t help but memorize and your back walking through doorways
towards a world where you lose me, and are okay that i’m not in it: your movie.