"Moments Before Finding the Spare Key" by Aya Elizabeth
In the crosshairs of an escape I am undeniable and turned away,
last girl scout in the stairwell, cacti-tongued and fickle-heart
sung the congregation of sinners to a simmering stop
just in time for the disappearing act of the hour
and I’m out like the string of lightbulbs that just
can’t get fixed. I’m on the ladder, waiting
for someone to lace their fingers around my ankle,
hold me steady as I twist and twist and wait for the switch
to click on too early and leave me blind and stranded
and tangled, and what a mess it is to be at the mercy
of another’s ache for light when you were the one
who wanted it first.
Rosemary, blackberry, brush fire across the river,
and I’ve been giving prayers teeth all night long.
The key breaks in the lock and suddenly I’m late
For the party happening in my own home.
Anything could happen: the oven could catch on fire,
the crows could make a nest in my kitchen sink.
The drain would clog up with string and twigs
and honeysuckle pulled from drainage ditches.
I act like I’m looking to live in solidarity with the stray cat,
but really I’m just wishing now that I had become a doctor
so I could cut all the bad parts out, re-sew myself into a net to let
the uncertainty all wash through. But right now
I’ll live with the spare key undoing the latch of the life I built,
with a kitchen that lives in waves of thunder and marching beasts,
with climbing the ladder to fix the lights, ankles uncertain,
eyes wide open, ready to let the free fall happen, knowing
that I chose it on my own and will make it mine and right
by myself.
last girl scout in the stairwell, cacti-tongued and fickle-heart
sung the congregation of sinners to a simmering stop
just in time for the disappearing act of the hour
and I’m out like the string of lightbulbs that just
can’t get fixed. I’m on the ladder, waiting
for someone to lace their fingers around my ankle,
hold me steady as I twist and twist and wait for the switch
to click on too early and leave me blind and stranded
and tangled, and what a mess it is to be at the mercy
of another’s ache for light when you were the one
who wanted it first.
Rosemary, blackberry, brush fire across the river,
and I’ve been giving prayers teeth all night long.
The key breaks in the lock and suddenly I’m late
For the party happening in my own home.
Anything could happen: the oven could catch on fire,
the crows could make a nest in my kitchen sink.
The drain would clog up with string and twigs
and honeysuckle pulled from drainage ditches.
I act like I’m looking to live in solidarity with the stray cat,
but really I’m just wishing now that I had become a doctor
so I could cut all the bad parts out, re-sew myself into a net to let
the uncertainty all wash through. But right now
I’ll live with the spare key undoing the latch of the life I built,
with a kitchen that lives in waves of thunder and marching beasts,
with climbing the ladder to fix the lights, ankles uncertain,
eyes wide open, ready to let the free fall happen, knowing
that I chose it on my own and will make it mine and right
by myself.
Aya Elizabeth is an artist, bookseller, and poet living in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work has appeared in Konch Magazine, Typishly, and The Write Launch.
Tricia Louvar lives in the Pacific Northwest and studied journalism, poetry, aesthetics, and documentary photography in college and beyond. She works in publishing as a visual artist and writer. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Brevity, Orion Online, Zyzzyva, and more. tricialouvar.com
Artist Statement: At a Saturday kaffeeklatsch, after splitting a piece of banana bread, I am the one nibbling pieces of its raw sugar left behind on the plate. Such an instantsummarizes my artistic impulses of focusing on the leftovers and the overlooked. I investigate the human condition and its relationship to impermanence with digital and analog tools.
Artist Statement: At a Saturday kaffeeklatsch, after splitting a piece of banana bread, I am the one nibbling pieces of its raw sugar left behind on the plate. Such an instantsummarizes my artistic impulses of focusing on the leftovers and the overlooked. I investigate the human condition and its relationship to impermanence with digital and analog tools.