as the airplane:
i am always finding a reason to take off
sometimes it looks like hiding
sometimes it looks like barcelona in july
as the quarantine order: forgive me
for suffocating, i don’t know how else to love
as the sailor who loves the ocean: i spend every morning
scrubbing salt from my lips
as the straight daughter my father wanted:
there are endless ways to please him
& i do all of them
i marry the boy, make the dinner, go to bed
cold & angry & it looks like honesty
as the beech tree: you carve
your name into me & i sap it to the roots
as the peach rotting in your fridge:
let the promise of my juice be enough
let me die shriveled & molded
but whole at least
as my mother’s vegetable garden:
i am no longer afraid of the sun i don’t remember
what leaving looks like
there are soft hands here holding me
turning me
watering me
Sydney Vogl is a poet living in the Bay Area.