Poems by Karissa Satchwell
Karissa Satchwell has been featured in Platforms Magazine, Literary Tonic, and Espresso Stories. She writes without thinking, as much as she can
java jack
your mouth tastes like
a coffee filter
and my hands cant drink you
fast enough
we can't float this way
in sleep i find you have fish hooks for fingers
that have taken hold of me all of this time
it's not very fair
not fair for you to know this and not reply
its not very fair for you to bait me with exchanges and smiles
and then do nothing, leave me nothing more behind
though maybe its not fair for me to want too much
need too much, ask too much, from a man who
recognizes my breath only at certain times
its not fair for me to want your hands on mine, in my hair
when i cant manage to look you in the eye too long
keep playing as though i don't see you when i rest
as though i came ashore on accident, like the rest of the garbage
and ill play as though there haven't been those before me
but
i might stumble if you don't reel me in quic
and that's an advanced warning
what signs mean
i want to make up constellations with you
and to feel it will never be the same
i speak in funeral tones, in sullen guard tones
oversaying there's no other way
i dunk myself in shower and sink water daily
a private baptism, with no idea as to what i'm saving
i write me me you you on notebook pages
testing how long it takes, and before its done there is
blue ink in the chapped lines of my palms
i read them like tarot cards
i couldn't even estimate the weekend nights
i dig carpet fibers from my fingernails
i count holes in the off-white walls
i smell too much like baby lotion and stale smoke
from grandparents basements i've never been too
i try to cover it with perfume in bottles nicer than my clothes
i still sleep with that same faded blanket, but you wont see it
i still pick the songs that make my face wet and wrinkled
though i know there are better ones, louder ones
for pushing my feet in upward motions
i make up catalogs to purchase you in different moods
one who thinks its quirky and cute to
peel me from sofas, mattresses, and chairs
one who thinks character flaws are more like
story highlights than downfalls
i try to rest my case and form more than
half-altered declarations of being tired and of desire
but my hand is resting on cheap china cups and it feels
the same as my hand on the knob on the books on the railing
center of gravity
pull the roses high enough from her eyes
the thorns around her fingers
always different ways to keep steadied
always different ways he fails to see what she has started
what she thought he had pushed forward for them to fall
fall into the fall and embrace in a way sweat shaking
pull her hair, fingers tight and knowing
making sure she knows her place, the place she begged to make
she would sit in the same position for as long as needed
if he told her it would prove anything to him
though all those books she's read tell her these are incorrect methods
they say never plead and always, always be the first to leave
pull the stars from the curves of her shoulder bones
then maybe both of them could get some sleep
her nose against his neck, don't ruin it don't ruin it
she has never lied like this
it has been layers of sheets cooled by the air conditioner
her hands shoved under pillows, while nothing is against the wall reading
nothing is throwing blush-worthy lines into her eardrums
nothing is more than nothing is a hollow feeling like wanting
Copyright © Karissa Satchwell
