Carly Gove is a poet who is happiest with her two feet planted firmly on the Jersey shore. You can find some of her work in sea foam magazine, the second issue of spy kids review, and at her twitter, @govenotgov.
3 Poems by Carly Gove
yesterday, Juno fell into Jupiter’s orbit
and they got married all over again.
bitter, fighting from the start, Juno
dug freshly manicured nails into Ganymede and Callisto and
called herself crazy, she flung them to the edges of
the solar system. “you are mine again,”
yesterday, someone got shot. they
bled on my pleather seats and i did not cry.
“you are mine again,” said the gun
and i looked straight down the barrel
today, i am sitting with my legs crossed
thinking about the Iron Giant and all of my favorite
Springsteen covers and pretending not to exist.
in sign language, the clouds tell me “you
are mine, always, still, forever,” and so i dig
nails into my palm
until they break skin
her lips were the first to go,
plump and pillowy, meaty treats
plucked from a peach-ripe girl
on a hot july day
she lay very still
and allowed the largest gull to perch on her breasts,
claiming territory and protection from
she persuaded the sand to make way for a body,
a hole dug with shoulder blades
and she never came back
a few summers ago,
the world exploded in a sweaty dusty bubble,
a pop snap drip of soap
reflecting rainbows in my cousins eyeballs,
made them blind,
made them wary of the air in their lungs.
the winds were colliding, they tried to hold onto their dandelion tails but
they got sticky white tornadoes instead
lifting houses breaking a slipper-footed ankle,
winds that wailed names of witches in empty hallways and
bedrooms. they saw fathers who held broken beer bottles
and heavy steel doors more firmly than they ever held children, men
who screamed slut underneath their tongues and got it stuck in their eyelashes kinda
like the way dandelion seeds
stick to fields of grass, golden
grass in their backyard, the kind we could crouch in as kids
and the kind that makes you rich,
we hid but
only i got to stay hidden. i didn’t get dragged out on my belly,
i didn’t watch my friends die that summer,
my dandelion seeds are still here in my pocket,
they’re a little crushed now
from the gentle pressing of your head on my chest,
and the hurricane
but they’re still here and i haven’t spent them yet.
i will save them for you.
i will reconstruct your world
out of dandelion seeds and glue and spit and and sweat,
i will take your gentleness
and keep it safe
until you can use it again.
you don’t have to keep blowing bubbles,
but please remember that i am and
i am doing it so that one day
you will look up and remember sunny days on grass yards,
and you will learn how again.