Nina Simone Tells Me What I Will Lose, Mainly You

Junglescape, Meagan Dwyer




The arrhythmic pulse of jazz makes my back arch

as I strike a match against the curved edge

of your jaw; the thought of you is like stepping

outside after a movie when the light

                                              is too sharp.

I never thought I’d keep a collection of our sins,

organized by a God who loves hooks and cherry tobacco.

How easily you touch my hair

                                    beneath the low pull

of the sun, make the bed where all the small

shudders and eager deaths lie still and waiting.

I want to steal what your lungs do so well;

lock breaths in a box hidden

                                            under a city of rust.

Withheld tongues sigh the names found behind a door

I cannot open.




About the Author

Rachel Cruea · Ohio Northern University

Rachel Cruea received her BA from Ohio Northern University and is currently working towards her MFA in poetry at the University of Colorado Boulder. Her works have been published in The Pinch and Birds Piled Loosely. This piece first appeared in The Adroit Journal.

About the Artist

Meagan Dwyer · Rice University

Meagan Dwyer recently graduated from Rice University. Her artwork focuses on abstracting landscapes, and environmental issues. This piece first appeared in R2:The Rice Review.

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