"Night Owl" by Michelle McElroy
Two poems by nar juiceharp castle
GOOD EATER
a child is looking at me while i eat
i think that he might ask me what i am doing
i hope that he will ask because children do
what adults will not
a mixture of mental illness and prayer i think
as i wave my food above my head
dedicating each fork full
balanced not by nutrient but
by weight and shape and tackiness
to the hope that, if i can’t be good, i can at least
keep the bad above my head
outside my body
away from my skin
i think that he might ask me what i am doing
i hope that he will ask because children do
what adults will not
a mixture of mental illness and prayer i think
as i wave my food above my head
dedicating each fork full
balanced not by nutrient but
by weight and shape and tackiness
to the hope that, if i can’t be good, i can at least
keep the bad above my head
outside my body
away from my skin
YOU, A CHOPIN AND ME A BESTSELLER
for a few days now i’ve thought about your apartment,
the one with the floor missing in the center of the room
so big that we had to step around it if we didn’t want to fall
and ate german jam directly out of the jar with one large spoon.
you told me about a piano song
so long that no one person can play it alone
and no one audience can hear more than a few notes
unless they are millionaires or locals.
i asked about the boxed flowers outside your window;
you didn’t know who cares for them.
the pit came into focus, then.
your pile of glasses, your crushed tuba,
and no room for me.
you said i was the george to your chopin.
you were wrong and right about that.
you were not that beautiful
i was not that tough.
but you also told me
you wanted many mothers,
told me there’s nothing maternal
about this bitch.
and you right.
the one with the floor missing in the center of the room
so big that we had to step around it if we didn’t want to fall
and ate german jam directly out of the jar with one large spoon.
you told me about a piano song
so long that no one person can play it alone
and no one audience can hear more than a few notes
unless they are millionaires or locals.
i asked about the boxed flowers outside your window;
you didn’t know who cares for them.
the pit came into focus, then.
your pile of glasses, your crushed tuba,
and no room for me.
you said i was the george to your chopin.
you were wrong and right about that.
you were not that beautiful
i was not that tough.
but you also told me
you wanted many mothers,
told me there’s nothing maternal
about this bitch.
and you right.
nar juiceharp castle is a black queer enby disabled poet and cartoonist based in boston focusing on intimacy, trauma, and texting.
Michelle McElroy is a native New Englander who studied painting at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and has worked at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston, Skinner Auction House and Historic New England. Interested by how light and shadow can transform everyday scenes are constant inspiration. These are images that she may see on early morning runs, midnight snacks in the kitchen or simple observations of everyday scenes that people can connect with or create a narrative of their own. Michelle’s work has been accepted into various juried shows in galleries around the United States and actively shows at local venues, such as libraries and cafes. She is a member of the Cambridge Art Association, Edward Hopper House, and Center for the Arts in New London, New Hampshire. Michelle lives in New Hampshire with her husband and two cats. Instagram: @michellemcelroyart Website: michellemcelroy.com
