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September 2, 2015 Poetry

4 Poems

Emily Carney

4 Poems photo

I am watching a barbara walters interview with jennifer lawrence
thinking ‘I like seeing nice people sad’

I skipped my niece’s first birthday party today

my family went, and when they came home
they placed little pink jars on our counters

the jars were full of skittles, which is ironic
a baby shouldn’t have jars or eat skittles

the jars are a metaphor for the party
a baby doesn’t care about having a party

when everybody took themselves somewhere else
I quietly emptied the jars in my mouth

lena dunham

legs apart, wrists willing: I am teaching myself to love sasha grey. silent films in this slim macbook theatre; huge butt, and toned kinda hands, toned tongue. a kind of gentle shock that is surprised by itself, that has long fingers and drools. wide-eyed spilling: fish love. when they talk about it later it was always good. when they talk about it later ‘your thighs felt good.’ I am shrugging now. I am saying ‘yeah.’

window shopping @ dress barn

I would benefit, I think, from taking a nail file to this feeling
of wanting your hands in my hair

there exists an extraordinary concept
of making what is not neon, neon
and I feel this now in my house

I am alone tonight
have you texted me

‘you should’ feels made of polymers,
like I shouldn’t offer it my mouth

and this because I am wearing a button-down shirt
this because of what my parents want from me, ultimately

a kind of responsibility

cactus poem

hold a plastic bag to your tits
the bag you are holding looks like david schwimmer and
you are holding it because I told you to
the bag is angry w/ you
you try to reason w/ the bag and it
tells you that you never answer your phone
something intangible is convincing you this is true
you twist the bag until it looks like a sullen braid
~flimsy baby snake pancake~
and bite it up into supplements
which, after exposure to sunlight, can glow in the dark
and only love you now


image: Aaron Burch