When / I think about you / I think about water / snow, melting / you taught me / to want / to, be like water / if you can / to flow / nourishing & clean / sparkling / a half-frozen stream / I wanted to talk to David / opine / I too love rules / order / the right order / I wanted to be like water / but I cared / so much / gave a dam / many damns / circling thoughts / of water / I was hospitalized / diagnosis / being sick / going postal / approaching perfection? / I wanted to talk to David / so I emailed Cassie / asked if she enjoyed hibernating / told her I hate nation states / their borders & boundaries / told her how the doctor / said I needed to / work on being firm / with my boundaries / when I think about you / I think about my brain / meeting of minds in a room / red as Marlboros / smoked in the snow / next snow day / I return to the synagogue cemetery / sign says / come before dusk / or after dawn / I sit / among the dead & familiar / I leave / before contemplation / turns into trespassing.
THE BOYS
The boys drink beer out of dog bowls and argue to me that Heineken is the worst blonde. Maybe I just have a thing for blondes, I say. The boys order another round. The boys listen to John Prine and Death Grips. G wants to be an astronaut, C a high school history teacher, maybe lecture film theory on the side. B gets some jobs doing music PR, but I can tell he really just wants to write. The boys tell me they are all Eagle Scouts. They affix a set of deer antlers to their living room wall, and say they’ll hang their Arrow of Light badges from the tines. The boys roadtrip to Climax, Kentucky, then Fulton, Mississippi. The boys go fishing, fry catfish by the lake. G says no sunset can compete with his New Mexico skies. The boys pick me up from the airport. They drive me to see horses when I say, I just really need to see some horses. The boys and I traverse a golf course we think is an equestrian park. G turns the radio down when he knows a song will sting me too sharp. C tells me to watch Paris, Texas if I want to see a movie that’ll really break my heart. B reads my poems, even when they’re just alright. My boys smoke dark green American Spirits, and their laughter lights the dusky night.
Katherine Oung is a writer living in Nashville, Tennessee. Their poems can be found or are forthcoming in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, fourteen poems, Sine Theta Magazine, and elsewhere. Their nonfiction writing can be found in The New York Times, The Nashville Scene, No Bells Magazine, and elsewhere. They enjoy film photography and ice cold Shiner Bock.
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