1 poem

by Courtney Bush

Courtney Bush is a poet, filmmaker, and preschool teacher from Biloxi, Mississippi. Her poems have most recently appeared in Critical Quarterly, blush lit, and The Adirondack Review, and are forthcoming in Night Music Journal. Her chapbook, Isn’t This Nice?, is forthcoming from blush lit.

My son is home

Possessing only a brain does not serve you well

It does not serve you well in love

There’s a catfight in the rain

Because people love an underworld story

In Australia Tinder’s name is Gumtree Classifieds

 

So I put my brain there

The two options for leaving me 

And water covers the slabs in sheets

And the sheets are dirty

 

My divorce like every event

Does not happen in one tense or another

I miss wanting to be touched

I miss not hating voices 

I actually don’t miss my husband 

 

Payton was drunk, I was drunk

We watched the blood girl collect her billions

In my apartment so shitty except for the skylight

Picking up everything

 

In the living room the light finding you for once

So you can think with your higher mind

I don’t want to know the names for anything

Not one bird, tree, plant

How I hate mountains

Once I learned plums and peaches are drupes

Knowing a bird’s name I would overflow with rage

That and the plums, it’s happening now

 

Is it clear I want to know people’s names only

Alan, Margaret, Nehemiah, Clare

I love when someone says my name

And know it doesn’t make the world any better

At least I know love is the point of everything

So love is why stingrays kill people

 

I read poems right after a hippie once

So that when I made fun of the moon

The room was primed for something else

My friend left because she couldn’t stop laughing

Love is the point of that

 

For a while I pretended to believe in a female god figure

Due to the zeitgeist

But I believe women are all the same

And men too

At this time I can only handle being almost stupid

Like love is why you shouldn’t lean on the doors

And my glassy underfed eyes make me look closer to death

On the good side which is to say young

 

Remember when he was just so funny

His blonde curls and thinking how did I get here

My plan is to send parts of my spirit forth

The same way old movies begin

The way new movies end

 

When a movie ends I hate that

When a poem is shaped like something I hate that

I threw my body through the table for beauty

I got so drunk not only hoping you could read my mind

But counting on it, thinking you should know

I only care about myself

 

Of my desire I’ve been keeping this short list

Realism in film so pure it causes mass insanity

My star on the rise

The deepest psychological punishment