Three Poems
—
Aubri Kaufman
Sunday’s Desire Path
“I’ve come to understand that desire paths are not mere acts of thoughtlessness or destruction. Instead, they are a visualisation of what people want and need”
—Sonia Witak, Substack
—Sonia Witak, Substack
On the way to the grocery store, I notice
a diner without a sign, nameless, and topped
with a synthetic moon: a mimicry of what it’s aiming for.
I wonder what they worship there. Shapes
or shadows. I wonder if I could come inside,
if I’d be received and held tightly. Chosen,
or chastised.
I’ve lost some time between then and now,
weaving between the endcaps and abandoned carts,
past a free-range duck egg cracked across the linoleum,
damning the entire carton.
I browse under-ripened fruit with my bare hands.
Maybe in time, but not yet.
I squeeze blood oranges gently to let them know
that I know what it’s like: the plucking and parsing.
A heavy-lidded baby fights the sleep it desperately needs
and we all suffer, while some wilted lettuce waits to be discarded.
A crescent cut with eager teeth into a half-eaten honeycrisp
makes me wonder if maybe we’ll find a way.
Heal,
I whisper to can of dented artichoke hearts,
So I can make something good with you.
❊
The Pros and Cons of Having a Spine
A serving size of Pam Cooking Spray
is measured in time. One quarter of a second
and there’s five hundred and fifty-eight
servings in each can. Sometimes I can see spiders
building webs in the wrong places—across
landscapers’ equipment, the backs
of the neighbor children’s bikes. I worry
they’re making mandalas instead of homes.
One of the most surprising things
about getting divorced is that you will go through
five hundred and fifty-eight servings of something
by yourself. You will find new ways to measure things.
For example, on my third day here,
an orb weaver tried to lay her eggs
in my screen door.
Did you know they can lay up to one thousand at a time?
Did you know that carrying heavy things improperly
for too long can compress your spine?
Did you know medium moving boxes
are almost three dollars each?
I scooped the weaver
into a cup, showed her a safer place.
Nestled her into the bark of a nearby tree.
Counted, before I left, to try and measure something.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three.
❊
French Quarter Fishtank
(Best viewed horizontally)
No touching
No feeding
No banging on the glass
It’s there to keep you both safe
Stupid girl.
I know the mollusks
Look like the underside of a tongue
I know you want to
Crack them open
Feel their meaty insides
Slurp them from their shell
Swallow them raw
Saltwater dripping down past your
Ring
No feeding
No banging on the glass
It’s there to keep you both safe
Stupid girl.
I know the mollusks
Look like the underside of a tongue
I know you want to
Crack them open
Feel their meaty insides
Slurp them from their shell
Swallow them raw
Saltwater dripping down past your
Ring
The well-worn keys
The urge to trace their edges
With fingertips or flat palms
Something you desperately need
I know your ache
Steel byssal threads
When they snap themselves free
Try to retether
Every time
Their copper winding
Deep and rich
Like the hint of a southern accent, or
Crow’s feet, or a name reverberating—
Like the top note on a piano.
The urge to trace their edges
With fingertips or flat palms
Something you desperately need
I know your ache
Steel byssal threads
When they snap themselves free
Try to retether
Every time
Their copper winding
Deep and rich
Like the hint of a southern accent, or
Crow’s feet, or a name reverberating—
Like the top note on a piano.
