by Katie Leigh

Shrugging on a slummed-down jacket of nighttime,

I pause first at the bathroom, where scraps of cash swirl,

green tea leaves resting in a fine-china toilet bowl.

 

Now, walking to weed at midnight,

the weekend— weeks away—

I pass bleach-spotted one stories and dead grasses,

resolve sinking like the head fog of a scorched plastic high.

 

Emergency funds flushed, pockets both dark and light.

Again, I decide to suffer. Again, I refuse the regret.

 

Like a bluetooth shredder set to self-destruct,

I don’t deserve what I am scared to consume.

I shouldn’t own what I am sure to ruin.

 

Mon Coeur, my fantasies of French exits alarm me.

Maybe it’s better for me, to have enough money to live,

but too little to leave. Always too little to leave,

 

This place, where the sun sets early, wind howling,

guttural gusts like ghost dance.

 

God, I feel bad, Ifeelbad, I feel—

 

nothing, imagining the road winding home,

I’m backhanded by a mental flinch, a physic twinge,

reminding me, this feeling,

is as close to home as I can be.

 

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Katie Leigh (she/her) is a Junior at Oklahoma State University. She is pursuing dual degrees in English and History, meaning she spends much of her free time writing essays. In the future, she hopes to attend graduate school, write even more essays, and continue pursuing her goal of publishing original poetry. In her work, she explores topics such as social issues, relationships, and mental illness. She currently lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma in an apartment overrun with roommates.