Medallion

On the pier there is a man and a woman trying to predict their future. They turn to me as if to ask if I know the answer. I choose the latter; the man says before turning to walk towards Athens. The woman sits down on a bench with a cup of frozen custard--the only loveable thing about Delaware. I see her swimming two days later. I watch until she becomes a prune of herself. I walk back towards sandcastles shaped by my children's hands. I think of her man in Athens who has surely turned to what he thought was his to miss, back to his other. To think grass will ever wait for you is the biggest mistake of all.

Maya Staples is a poet and artist living in Boston, MA. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Hobart Pulp, Queer Art Collective, Jabberwocky, and The Eunoia Review. You can find her on Instagram @0nlinemaya.