Semester No. 6 

The refrigerator is full of gold
beer, stacked can after can

twelve tablets left:
little nectarine-colored-problem-solvers

the blunt end of a knife grinds
and pills become pixie dust 

Let’s run away – there’s a canoe on the lake
he says, pupils dilated. I laugh.

Staggering as far as the gas station 
a green smock hands him a pack of Camels

tells us to have a good morning, though it’s still dark
what time is it?

we make our way back through brisk air that cuts our cheeks
what month is it?

we fall
onto the couch and cover up with cushions instead of blankets

7:00am: I watch him dissolve
and wait for the sounds of dawn      

Semester No. 7

I don’t care about classical bronze statues of Zeus
I sing, running up rotting stairs

t-shirt stretched over my nose and mouth
spraying aerosol poison

mid-buzz, bees fall from their hive
empty and unseasonably cold

what month is it?
I land on the couch and watch sitcoms back to back to back

the pill container sleeps in the trashcan
keeping company with dated vodka

I am antsy without wings 
what time is it?

 

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Alyse Richmond is earning an MFA in Creative Writing with a concentration in poetry. She was first published in the University of Baltimore’s literary journal, Welter, and she strives to continue publicizing her work throughout the country.

 

 

 

 

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