july, the shade of apple cider
i biked past the snake
shrouded in maggots and flies
this morning. i don’t know whether a car
stripped the movement from his
skin or he just
decided to die. i’m not sure
i want to know, but i’ve been good at following scars.
she sat in the backyard
honey sweet in melanchole, clutter of amaretto
and talk of trailer parks. do i say
good night or good morning? it is 2 a.m.
and you’ve fallen like toast crumbs.
we are navigating the definition of
“reasonable” and deciding not to shower.
we went to walmart and bought parchment
paper instead of doing lines in the parking lot
like last time. is this what it means to grow up?
i still sweep inefficiently. yet you say i take care
Charlotte Foreman is an undergraduate studying Written Arts at Bard College in Annandale on Hudson, New York. An overdramatic Leo, her poetry and photographs usually center around a nostalgia for home or just general disillusionment. She has previously been published in Crashtest Magazine, Squawk Back, and YST Publications. You can contact her through her website or email.