climb out of the atlantic ocean and onto massachusetts,
curl up at the foot of my bed.
i want to have you here
like a bag of tangerines,
or a jar full of seawater.
take me to a field.
the weather is a week ahead at sea level.
we’re so early
rain hits our winter coats,
we slip in snow.
language slips in the grass. i say amen,
i think i meant
cut my hair, or place your body in me.
you grab my hand
(i have a hand)
while pieces of grass stick to us like birthmarks.
the field floods,
and we become the bottom of something
old and sleeping.
you breathe bubbles like smoke,
i find you.
By Katie Clark
Katie Clark is an Interviews Editor for Vagabond City Lit and an undergrad in the Pioneer Valley. Katie’s most recent work can or will be found in Spilled Milk, Tinderbox, and Five:2:One Magazine. Their chapbook our own soft is available from Nostrovia! Press. You can find Katie on Twitter @octupiwallst.
You can purchase a copy of our own soft here.