tractor beam

before you were born-again-again
we got stoned in your car and counted down
to midnight, turn of the worst decade, didn't
know what was ahead, drove to the ihop and
you laughed so big i never knew
what color your eyes were
not until just recently
something in me turns
women i loved evangelical
cow town like this
what else is there to do
lord forgive me i’ve hit the bottom
and i’m ready to float up
i’ll give up red meat, sex,
anything with teeth
i swear i’ll let it
drop through my fingers

interchange

you would never meet a girl like that in the suburbs
might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me
i dig my nails into it as a rosary when my food stamps get denied
the oak is rotting and falling off in limbs
and the cat doesn't bite us anymore
and things keep dying that were never supposed to
everything comes out sharp and laconic
when it doesn’t even pass through my brain first–
but, god–sorry nothin on me
just feels so good
when it's true on every axis.

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 also edits poetry and nonfiction for JAKE. She runs the archival site SACRAMENTO DIRTBAG ARCHIVES and can be found at romyrhoadsewing.xyz