Jennifer Star Cameron

She was eating them from the bag
as I spoke to her
phone lines causing our correspondence to
crack and fade
We spoke of possessions.
She doesn't know what to bring with her,
what to leave behind.
She can't decide which lake to swim in on her way to the coast.
She can't decide which boy to sleep with,
Which one to kiss,
Which one to shower with.
I can't decide if I need
love more than I need
myself
alone: me to answer to.
We plotted nights of sleeping in trees
Under sheets of rain.
Making a curtain of seashells
Hanging our hats on driftwood.
I know in the summer
we will share cigarettes
Watch fireflies through our
Screenless window
Feel the smoke and the lights from the street
We will drink red wine,
dance together, bodies warm underneath
thin white cotton and lace,
feet bare, loving hard wood floors.
I will cook for her
And she will tell me the way my body moves
is a woman.
I speak into the phone.
"I'm really lonely."
"Do you want some chocolate chips?"
She says.
 

Katrina Rachuy