February | Skye Tarshis
It is spring
and I skip my favorite songs
to keep from wringing out
my chest.
​
A thick cherry cough drop
in my mouth. Or cough syrup
spilling like lighting gel.
​
A golden shard settles over the city
and I mold false memories
of friends at the beach, singing
and holding hands.
​
I am so sick. My sinuses
are filled with pollen.
​
It is spring
and my girlfriend wears
a blue check-print dress,
her skin still dewy
from the shower. She sits
on my lap, and we laugh
about the summer. All that time
spent inside the stuffy house,
our sweaty bodies careening
on the couch
while the wildfire smoke settles
into our pores, leaves
its heavy trace down our skies.
​
I do not hear my blood today.
I only smell the sweet wind
as it fades.
Skye Tarshis is a poet from New York City. You can find their criticism in RHINO Reviews and Lucky Jefferson Magazine. They work in publishing and live in Brooklyn.