Chocolate chip pancakes as thick as my fist, pink tulips misheard as orange carnations, rasping pages of old books piled in the window, you refilling my water glass until beads gather. The house would be empty without you in it. No, really it would be empty, completely. I’d sit on the balcony, smoke cigarettes all night, daub the embers in a ceramic ramekin, write poems that I’d crumple and burn, sleep with the television for muffled company. No. I prefer smoking on the balcony with you, after swimming in the pool. Long lazy evenings, you carry me on your back in the warm water, my arms wrapped around your shoulders. This apartment is a cocoon and we are spinning our web together, glistening like twinkle lights. Twenty-eight years, full lungs, stacked baggage All that, you carry and I am weightless.
Shannon Wolf is a British writer and teacher, living in Denver, Colorado. Her debut full-length poetry collection Green Card Girl is forthcoming from Fernwood Press. She received a joint MA-MFA in Poetry at McNeese State University and also has degrees from Lancaster University and the University of Chichester. She is the Co-Curator of the Poets in Pajamas Reading Series. Her poetry, short fiction, and non-fiction (which can also be found under the name Shannon Bushby) have appeared in The Forge, No Contact Mag, and HAD among others. You can find her on social media @helloshanwolf.