Alicia Catt
Dear Jessica
after Portia Elan
the scars on your arms remind me of whip welts but I’m not afraid: I know how
our skins dream of bleeding, how any sharp thing becomes a fire escape in the right
light. I would fillet both my wrists for you to bandage & isn’t that what devotion
means? What I mean is Jessica everything hurts please don’t go. Mix a scotch &
scotch & drink & let me sink your battleship. Dear Jessica I am not in love with
you but in the dark my hands insist otherwise. The duvet’s gone missing & the dog
licks your face but I only want to climb inside you one wicked finger at a time. I
only want to write poems about you & your yesyesyes! I only want to drink &
drink & draw your hips into the lap of my tongue till the neighbors pound the wall.
& maybe I do love you, okay!, but Jessica please stop crying. Let’s
smoke Old Golds & make our bitch mothers into voodoo dolls. Or let’s drive our
cars into a lake―drown with our hair plaited together so when we’re dredged up
they’ll know who I belonged to. Dear Jessica here is the thing: when I tell you to
stop crying it’s because I don’t know how to start.
Alicia Catt received her MFA from Minnesota State University, and is currently at work on a memoir about the sex industry. Her writing can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Salt Hill, Yemassee, The Pinch, and elsewhere. She lives in Minneapolis with her pitbull, Piggy.
Return to November 2014 Edition
after Portia Elan
the scars on your arms remind me of whip welts but I’m not afraid: I know how
our skins dream of bleeding, how any sharp thing becomes a fire escape in the right
light. I would fillet both my wrists for you to bandage & isn’t that what devotion
means? What I mean is Jessica everything hurts please don’t go. Mix a scotch &
scotch & drink & let me sink your battleship. Dear Jessica I am not in love with
you but in the dark my hands insist otherwise. The duvet’s gone missing & the dog
licks your face but I only want to climb inside you one wicked finger at a time. I
only want to write poems about you & your yesyesyes! I only want to drink &
drink & draw your hips into the lap of my tongue till the neighbors pound the wall.
& maybe I do love you, okay!, but Jessica please stop crying. Let’s
smoke Old Golds & make our bitch mothers into voodoo dolls. Or let’s drive our
cars into a lake―drown with our hair plaited together so when we’re dredged up
they’ll know who I belonged to. Dear Jessica here is the thing: when I tell you to
stop crying it’s because I don’t know how to start.
Alicia Catt received her MFA from Minnesota State University, and is currently at work on a memoir about the sex industry. Her writing can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Salt Hill, Yemassee, The Pinch, and elsewhere. She lives in Minneapolis with her pitbull, Piggy.
Return to November 2014 Edition