Jelly Bracelet Love Poem
by Robin Gow
Snap me open. Take me for the smell of a parking lot. I thought of boys like levers. Like let-me-ins. The blue for a Game Stop alley. Dumpster girl. Dumper man. A finger touching wrist-skin. Necks of flowers bent backwards towards a bald sun. I bought as many as I could. Traced my halos. Kicked in doors. My nightstand where I took my bracelets off in clumps. On the phone until the phone turned into a hand. His hand. His bare wrist. If you are going to lose no matter what you might as well have some control. Here is my pink and my yellow bracelet. Here are all my soft parts I am still trying to turn to crystals. Bellies of oysters. Sitting on the curb and fidgeting. Here is my black bracelet. The headlight you held like apple pies. So yes, please, snap me open. Tell me my purpose. What we are going to do in your Jeep Cherokee.
Robin Gow is a trans poet and witch from rural Pennsylvania. It is an author of several poetry books, an essay collection, YA, and Middle-Grade novels in verse, including Dear Mothamn and A Million Quiet Revolutions.
Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com
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