"Nightphone" by Marisol Brady
Being Too Honest on Date Night by Kimberly Thornton
At the bar you'll buy me a drink,
the bartender will make it on ice,
the topic of discussion is for me to choose
which is a mistake.
The shy coyotes
and curious javelinas are on my mind,
and the fires are making me sweat.
I'll ask about the dirt and drought,
the unsustainable desert.
The pollen in the air is getting worse
and mosquitoes love the taste of your blood.
Maybe I'm not pleasant company.
As a child in my parents' living room,
ambiance of soapy dishes washed in the sink
and their voices murmured of how I would grow
to do something good like be a kind listener
who sits with the uncomfortable.
What would they think of me now?
I'm thirsty for the water pouring
from garden hoses to drown a lawn.
Our table will become a cage,
you'll laugh nervously.
Your chair a trap,
you'll start snarling at me
before the night is over.
I've never wanted anything more
in my entire existence
than the relief to be wrong.
the bartender will make it on ice,
the topic of discussion is for me to choose
which is a mistake.
The shy coyotes
and curious javelinas are on my mind,
and the fires are making me sweat.
I'll ask about the dirt and drought,
the unsustainable desert.
The pollen in the air is getting worse
and mosquitoes love the taste of your blood.
Maybe I'm not pleasant company.
As a child in my parents' living room,
ambiance of soapy dishes washed in the sink
and their voices murmured of how I would grow
to do something good like be a kind listener
who sits with the uncomfortable.
What would they think of me now?
I'm thirsty for the water pouring
from garden hoses to drown a lawn.
Our table will become a cage,
you'll laugh nervously.
Your chair a trap,
you'll start snarling at me
before the night is over.
I've never wanted anything more
in my entire existence
than the relief to be wrong.
Kimberly Thornton is an editor with a degree in sociology who enjoys literary analysis with coffee and donuts. Her poetry has been published in Carve Magazine and has been longlisted for the June 2021 Fox Paw Literary writing contest. Find her reading poetry and living a life of less in Arizona.
Marisol Brady is a self-taught photographer whose work examines the ephemerality of capitalist excess, nostalgic distortion, times we’ve had, times we’ve been told we had, and the time we have left. They cast an optimistic, neon-lensed glance at the decay precipitated by the hyper-escalating economic inequality and planetary destruction of the past four decades that, with some squinting, recognizes its transformative potential. Originally hailing from Long Island’s south shore, Marisol lives in Brooklyn.
