Post Canvas #2 by David Goodrum
The Opposite Game by Jen Gayda Gupta
The opposite of sad is leaving.
The opposite of leaving
is staying and staying makes me sad.
When I get sad, I do the routine
liftings and lowerings
till my home is chomping on the bit,
panting in anticipation.
I get high on the smell of nothing
left behind, plenty of underwear,
and all my favorite jeans.
The opposite of nothing left behind
is packing. The opposite of packing
is unpacking. I am unpacking the fact
that the opposite of me is my cousin.
Born three weeks apart,
our mothers assumed
we’d be the same until
we grew up and she was smart.
Everyone used to bet on whether
she’d cure cancer or curate world peace.
She became a teacher
and a mother, which was my plan
but we are opposites
so I had to change it.
She is tied to the end of the cat’s meow,
sticking to bedtime and first steps.
I am addicted to asphalt, drinking
street lights in my sleep.
Last night I dreamt we were both
pregnant and she gave birth
to a cabbage patch doll but mine
decided it didn’t want to be born.
I dreamt I was homing a squatter
and to be honest, that sounds nice.
We’d have so little in common.
There would be so much to learn.
My cousin juggles all day– baby and student
and dog and cat and coo and bottle and wife.
The opposite of jobless is jobful.
I kissed four trees and ate a whole sun.
The opposite of winning
is losing which is not a thing
when it comes to life.
I have always been best at games
when I forget to play defense.
Ask my mother and I am
losing. Ask my sadness
and it says it’s time to go.
The opposite of leaving
is staying and staying makes me sad.
When I get sad, I do the routine
liftings and lowerings
till my home is chomping on the bit,
panting in anticipation.
I get high on the smell of nothing
left behind, plenty of underwear,
and all my favorite jeans.
The opposite of nothing left behind
is packing. The opposite of packing
is unpacking. I am unpacking the fact
that the opposite of me is my cousin.
Born three weeks apart,
our mothers assumed
we’d be the same until
we grew up and she was smart.
Everyone used to bet on whether
she’d cure cancer or curate world peace.
She became a teacher
and a mother, which was my plan
but we are opposites
so I had to change it.
She is tied to the end of the cat’s meow,
sticking to bedtime and first steps.
I am addicted to asphalt, drinking
street lights in my sleep.
Last night I dreamt we were both
pregnant and she gave birth
to a cabbage patch doll but mine
decided it didn’t want to be born.
I dreamt I was homing a squatter
and to be honest, that sounds nice.
We’d have so little in common.
There would be so much to learn.
My cousin juggles all day– baby and student
and dog and cat and coo and bottle and wife.
The opposite of jobless is jobful.
I kissed four trees and ate a whole sun.
The opposite of winning
is losing which is not a thing
when it comes to life.
I have always been best at games
when I forget to play defense.
Ask my mother and I am
losing. Ask my sadness
and it says it’s time to go.
Jen Gayda Gupta lives, writes, and travels in a tiny camper with her husband and their dog. Her work has been published in One Art, Rattle, Sky Island Journal, The Shore, Wrongdoing and others. You can find her @jengaydagupta and jengaydagupta.com.
David Goodrum (Corvallis, Oregon) has had photography published in various art/literature journals and juried into many art festivals. He hopes to create a visual field that transports you away from daily events and into a place that delights in an intimate view of the world. See additional work at www.davidgoodrum.com.
