When we are frozen
in the maple syrup strings
of mapquest misadventure,
of too much ice in the Pepsi,
of make-believe gun-shot wounds
or the level of Witcher you can’t beat,
When our intestines seep through
our big toes and take root
in backyard soil and Dairy Queen parking lots,
When we become sedentary
in intergalactic boredom,
I promise I will still take all the wrong turns.
Self Portrait in the Form of a Self Portrait
this is a self portrait in the form of a self portrait. which is to say this is a self portrait in the form of the dog that lived two houses down from you growing up. the one named Skippy or Fluffy. the one you watched Mr. Green run over in his Chevrolet 454SS. or if it wasn’t Mr. Green in the early 90s it was Mrs. Leek in a Honda Odyssey as she was rushing to the soccer fields for carpool. (Mrs. Leek was perpetually late for carpool). or if it wasn’t Mrs. Leek it was me. probably in my brother’s car on the way to Target last Tuesday. or if it wasn’t my brother’s car, it was me with my hands strangling Lassie until her eyes popped out of her head like a chew toy. (if this wasn’t a metaphor someone would probably be worried about me). which is to say when I look in the mirror all I find is black paint and smeared makeup. which is to say I cannot make a self portrait because someone turned all the glass around and all I have come to know is the industrial metal. which is to say I only know what my house looks like because of Google earth. which is to say I only know I have ears because my mom bought me BEATS headphones.
Hannah Nathanson’s poetry has been published in Canvas Literary Journal, Wordplay, Speak Your Mind & Shape Your World, and Peach Mag as well as several self-produced zines. She lives in Buffalo, where she attends City Honors High School and acts as a Youth Ambassador for the Just Buffalo Writing Center.