carryout

it is New Year’s Eve

and I am pouring sweet and sour dreams down the drain,

wrinkling my nose at the syrupy scent of vinegar hope that

I forgot to check at the door when I first 

felt sophomore year crawling up my insides

to stream down my eyes in fear. 

fear: deathbeds in holiday lights,

fear: my sutures splitting open to reveal the abhorrent chasm 

of loneliness grasping for a rope,

fear: why don’t they LOVE ME LOVE ME LOVE

me.

alone at the sink.

clearing plates of sticky rice with a cluttered mind

replaying two years of history because

she isn’t here to stop the weight hovering in drooping snow skies.

her family is forgetting reality in the tides.

so, I’ll write my New Year’s resolution

listening to the spin of clothes in Tide. 

I hope that I will hold out

for one more sullen start to a year,

one where authenticity doesn’t equal tears. 

By Katelynn Paluch