we knew the world was no good
We knew the world was no good
so we installed an ocean in the backyard.
We’d stand on the shore for hours,
our toes squishing in the lawn
as waves rolled in over them.
It was nice like that, for a time,
until the sharks came.
There was that one who ate all
the leftover lasagna in the refrigerator
and the one we found in the morning
sleeping on our couch.
Then the little one who
rearranged all the furniture
and mucked up the feng shui.
They were tolerable until one
snuck upstairs while we slept
and swallowed you whole.
I woke and reached to wrap
my arm around your waist,
but my hand slid across wet,
rubbery skin. I knew then
the ocean was no good, too.
i’ve always been in love with your meaning
You decided the world was no good
when it spit out the red gumball.
You’re convinced it’s rigged
and want your money back but
life doesn’t work that way, I say.
It’s the stuffed Frankenstein in the corner
and we’re the mechanic claw.
You say, even everyone is someone
to somebody and I know what you mean.
You mean our meaning is arbitrarily meaningless.
I mean green, you say.
No. You mean the Ford Taurus exhibit,
Detroit in the World Series, you even mean
sun bears, cocktail shrimp, the pop
of cherry tomatoes on your tongue.
Now you’re just soliloquizing, you say.
You fear that others don’t fear death
more than death itself.
You say, what do you mean and
I mean little play-time plastic sharks
floating in the bathtub.
Having traveled around the world, there's always a little something I take back with me. It must be small so that it fits in my suitcase. And it must be either beautiful or practical, like a vibrant green Ugandan shilling I use as a bookmark, or the speckled marble pebbles taken from the beach in Cinque Terre, Italy. But honestly, my absolute favorite souvenir is a pair of ankle socks I bought in Seward, Alaska. They're green and brown, say Alaska around the top, and have evergreen trees and moose (my favorite animal) around the ankle. They are both beautiful and practical. But most importantly they remind me of a place I love and the people who live there I love even more.
Michaela Loewer lives just outside of Portland, Oregon where she was born and raised. She has a B.A. in English and German from Portland State University, but uses her acquired German skills close to never. English, on the other hand, she puts to use by writing for a local design and build company. Michaela is a raging introvert who ironically loves people, hates it when people blow their nose in public, and has an irrational fear of sharks to the point she worries her shower’s going to fall into a tank of circling great whites. She's been published in scissors & spackle and Black Heart Magazine, with forthcoming poetry in Four Chambers and Poetry Quarterly. Currently she is working on a chapbook entitled later you’ll say you didn’t hear what i said.