1 poem

by Stevie Belchak

A finalist for both the 2018 Center for Book Arts Poetry Chapbook Contest and the 2019 Boaat Chapbook Prize, Stevie Belchak is a graduate of the English MFA for Poets & Writers at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. Her creative non-fiction and poetry can be found published in Feelings, Queen Mob's Teahouse, Pinwheel Journal, Hobart Pulp, Blush Lit, Third Coast, Dream Pop Press, Metatron's #MicroMeta series, and JetFuel Review.

I BUY A $60 SCARF TO CREATE A BRIGHT SPOT

April 11, 2020 - Quarantine

leave test tubes

of wine

vinegar

in my kitchen

to keep away

the flies

from all

the dead

I bathe

in my tarnish

the space

I make

between

my legs

anointed

with fashion

labels

and good

running water

I snag

my wool

watch it pull

at the seam

privilege

is so 

unsightly

they say

don’t look

but I can’t

help

my words

clamped

at the end

of somewhere

I don’t know

why

the days

have become

so busy

with dying

people

on their phones

we all hold giant

gleams

of worry

up to the sun

like some

kind of worship

of deoxygenated

hearts

60-second

videos

that help us

pause

breathe

they make us

so much less

round

and more

with sorrow

hyperlinking

and curated

I don’t even

feel

like myself

anymore

reading that

as a woman

I have great

buying power

and yet

am deemed

non-

essential

on a divan

I lie

languorous

in a mighty

gown

and triple

pendant

a cozy brand

collab

at my widest

point

I withdraw from

any type

of involvement

it’s so frightening

how I glisten

back lit

and in

a face mask

I made from

old jersey

some kind

of fabulous

helm

my own wild

knightship

I am simply

wading through

monochrome

and meaningless

images

yet another

desperate

nude

on Twitter

to think

this will be

our folklore

making people

go to work

and calling them

heroes

I’m just

so confused

by this

justification

human

error

my shellac

waiting patiently

to shine

over

another

Zoom conference

a spiritualist

in a scoop neck

tells me

to find

and then reverse

my warrior

where the palm trees

cut out

and I think

I would die

for just one more

90s anthem

about my big

black boots

old suit case

is this

being industrious

today

I created a line

here

for you to read

as I menstruated

big fat

diamonds

GIFs

some simple

wellness tools

to keep me

connected

to others

it’s all

seemingly

un-

connected:

courage

emojis

the way we

circulate

blood

I wish

you could see

that I am shook

by your

amassing

mail order

this collective

sadness

a feeling

that gathers

wet

in my pants

with some

pummeled mint

and dirty

vodka

I cheers

to a screen 

we’ve entered

some

unforgiving terrain

a plunging

neckline

dying

stock market

it’s all becoming

too much

coming

into the present

just to be

fossilized

in a metronome

of days

we forget

how to count

I think

I want to stop

the lacquer

of waiting

seconds

like horsewhips

edging out

fleas

from our summer

attire

increasing

demands

what is it

with this need

for productivity

I am so tired

of this

kind of tired

being made heavy

by grommets

meta data

my newfound want

for domesticity

I wear a drop

of linen

to our

rustic island

sucking

on anise stars

existential loss

imagining

my future

account

called Baking Soda

& Oil

being a

sort of martyr

for someone

out there

when we are

all alone

at night

I like watching

others

I’ve never met

build their patio

furniture

dye

their hair

dipping in and out

of palpable

streams

o

what

we do

to eat off

another’s

gloved

melancholia

to be in

the same

accumulation

of time

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