by Romy Rhoads Ewing
as i come down
yellow moon disappearing into the clouds to the deep of the sky
and the ozonic damp of the alfalfa in the wet of the sunset heat
like it’s gonna be different this year
slap the dog’s belly as the world rises over the willows
i can’t get my mind out of the gutter, that’s where it lives
laugh when you hear me tell the same story
shed
they’re leaving the exoskeletons of the
railyards to the north and soon i will be
once again priced out of last-legs rebar
someday this will all be filled with music
and with small bodies that don’t remember any different
like every girl i just wanted
to climb something condemned
i try to read the torah and the headlines
over some shoulders on the bus
still life with reddi whip and half a pack of senecas
at the bar she says i smell like ointment
which she says reminds her of hospitals
which remind her of her grandma
which remind her of death
which means she wants me pretty bad
scars that look like the thing that made them
cruel joke, etch your shape into me
i sprint from what i beg for
i want your softness in my wounds, i want
your fingers in my
cage
we could live in ellipsism
if we drag this out any further
when i squinted my eyes,
it looked just like you
so i kept at it
****
Romy Rhoads Ewing writes from Sacramento, California, where she was born and raised. her work has appeared in HAD, Oyez Review, Rejection Letters, Bullshit Lit, Major 7th Magazine, and more. she is the author of please stay (Bottlecap Press, 2024) and someday [everybody but] you + i will laugh about all of this (3rd Annual Hallow-Zine Fest, Oak Park Brewery, 2025). she also runs the archival site SACRAMENTO DIRTBAG ARCHIVES. more can be found at romyrhoadsewing.xyz