Poetry, Sarah Robbins
i see a worm on the sidewalk, sun-crisp,
deep brown, curled into a lowercase g,
and say, “me.” he looks like a bog body,
leathery and indestructible, which
is also me, i think. i tag myself as a bird
with a french fry. a story about you is me.
the hot goth reading comics at
half-priced books—the hello kitty
keychain on her bag is me. i answer
my own questions: what is projection,
what is empathy? a book of philosophy
is me. i am so busy finding myself everywhere,
seeing others as me. a cat paws a fly mid air
and presents me with the prize of me.
my body feels foreign most days, but it’s okay
i’ve got a million other selves to be.
Sarah Robbins is a writer currently based in Chicago. You can find their work in Carte Blanche, Vagabond City Lit, and Heavy Feather Review among others. Their chapbook, Hopeless Tomato (2021), is available from Bottlecap Press. They love summer time, crisp beer, and making their friends laugh. Like many great writers, Sarah is a barista. Follow them on Instagram @saaraahkate
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