Poetry, Olivia Kamer
You must buy the watermelon
with Tajín
at Venice beach
You must massage the kale
in maple syrup
and order one passionfruit
panna cotta, and then another
Flourless chocolate cake
that glues together
your lips and tongue
You must learn to distinguish
between the taste
of Camel Crush and
American Spirit
and wine that’s all
natural or soaking in
sulfites. You must spread
your legs on the beach for
the man who says
your name like a spell. He
will show your body it’s
beautiful and then leave
and you won’t mind at all
You must resist the urge to send
a letter to a different
man explaining every dream
you’ve ever had–it will be
too literal for him,
not enough metaphor
for his fucking. You will mind,
you will mind quite a lot.You
must start wearing heels,
taking up space, making
your thoughts other peoples’
problem. You must slip
into the vacuum they all
live in, you must dance,
you must watch TV all day
with the curtains drawn
You must let the cat fall
asleep purring on your foot,
making your way slowly
through the to-be-read books
You must eat the cake from
a knife held by fingers that
were once inside you
Drink martinis extra dirty
and cry, let your makeup
run in black rivers. You
must put your fingers in
someone else. Watch them
quiver. Nap in the middle
of the day, buy forty-dollar
candles, brush your hair
one hundred times a night
You must reapply your
stolen lipstick. Reapply,
reapply, reapply. Dream of
blood oozing down your door
Tap your friends’ teeth with
a painted nail. Check the oven,
check the door, check your
feet. Make tea. Reconsider
the abandoned novel
Someone might care that
you wrote it, it’s possible
It’s possible that men love
it when you’re mean and hate
it when you shatter any mirrors
It’s possible that the old lady
from the grocery store was
a guide. Somewhere within
her carpet bag is a map
and in your mind you travel
to her and get it. It’s a
circle, but then again, you
already knew that
You must order the beets,
the burrata, the risotto,
the cobbler. You must
suck on olives and
suck on fingers. It’s
possible both will destroy
you but the map says
it’s worth a shot. You must
think of something epic while
you come. It’s possible
this spell will work and
it’s possible that you can will
anything you want into
existence. It’s possible that
chamomile is the
holiest thing on earth
and no one knows it but
you. It’s possible they’re
all still in love. It’s
possible you must abide
you must abide you must
abide you must abide
Somewhere out there is
the perfect flower. You
must continue on
going Say
your farewells
Keep
reading
Olivia Kamer is a writer living in Los Angeles. Her written work has been published in Spectra, Soft Qtrly, The Dollhouse, and elsewhere. She has also self-published four chapbooks of poetry.
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