By Olivia Lehman
like a lighthouse in a century before boats.
Miserable. In love with every stupid
bright day, no matter the empirical fact
of sun poisoning. I wear the Medal of Foolishness.
I keep it polished in my nightstand drawer. Ha!
I can lie so easily to you here.
I have no nightstand.
Lately, I’ve been happy.
July is sweating something out of me.
Lately, I’ve been split in two.
One self is blowing bubbles down by the water.
The other feels entitled to her hurt.
It’s gargantuan. So big it rivals the question
what is possible tomorrow? It’s hard
when days get long like this.
There is so much time to figure out
this problem: a lit bay,
quiet as the new moon.
Olivia Lehman is a lesbian poet based in Virginia. Her debut chapbook, “Alternate Summer Where No One Dies,” was released with Giallo Lit in 2021. Their poems can be found in Ghost City Press, the Oakland Arts Review, and beyond. Find her out in the woods or on twitter @dykconicpoetics.
