Mailbox Full - Haley Fisch
its me just calling
to check up on you it’s been
like maybe a week? But
feels like maybe a year. You turn your back
like a flipped coin. I’m just waiting
for the bus, the one down by the creek
the ducks are calling to me but I left all
my pain at home and besides carbs aren’t good food
for ducks I wish I had some grubs, larvae, worms–
you’d have a granola
bar something with dried fruit
from your back pocket left over from that picnic
we never went on because the rain kept us home
locked upstairs trapped under our sheets–
(not that I mind being trapped with you.)
My sheets still smell like you from the
other day I don’t know if you remember you secreted
sex pheromones and deliberately rubbed up against
all my floral sheets and heart-shaped pillows now
I go to sleep with you creeping into my nose
and my big dumb brain projects your image onto everything
I see behind closed lids.
I wake crazy.
And I think you stay away on purpose let me work
myself into a frenzy until I’m foaming-at-the-mouth
rabid so you can put me down
like a stray.
I’ll be home soon now,
inside that old badger sett I described
to you when you once again
weren’t listening so good luck
(Hint: Follow the sound of desperate keening
as I wrestle with the part of me that’s feral. She’ll
smell like pine needles and crab apples fallen
to rot on the grass.)
call me back sometime between
now and then.
Haley Fisch lives and writes in beautiful british columbia, where the nature around her bleeds into her work. She writes both poetry and prose, tending towards fantastical subject matter. A creative writing major, Haley hopes to share with future generations the joy she found in creative writing.