‘3 Poems’ by Cait Reynolds


waiting for my new boyfriend to text me back

i don’t pluck my eyebrows
i give good head
count calories and read nutrition labels
i don’t want to feel too full
anxiety that gives off an electric spark
a pulse racing so quickly i can’t help but move
you know when you first start dating someone
and you’re trying to figure out what kind of
communicator they are?
i’ve found that “drunk” is the type of communicator
i attract
their peak hours are 9 p.m. to 1 a.m.
and they’ve all told me they love me
and this guy i’m waiting to hear back from
is too old to be acting like this
and his house is too messy
and the t.v. is always on
i’m a special combination of bored and lonely
which makes me game for anything
but now i’m getting irritated and want to punish him
it took two dates to pinpoint his weaknesses
so i’ll probably wear a tight dress and make him feel a little bit stupid tonight
it’s not that i like doing this, it’s pure self defense
because if you’re going to make me wait for you
then yes, you will apologize
you will feel like a fuck up
and you will go down on me
i’m going to be honest, we’ll probably break up
because i’m not really in love with you
i want to be
but some things haunt me and i don’t expect you to understand

cold winter months

when it was dark by 4:30
drinking in dive bars with shiny losers seemed like a logical choice
listening to them talk about how much acid they did two nights before
and all the broken glass that was lost in a piss stained couch
seemed slightly fascinating
even though i didn’t care about what music they had on
or what nonsense drawing, done with worn down crayolas, they showed me
i was a bitch and an angel simultaneously
i was sad and liked fucking
after watching him do coke off a dinner plate and peeling him off some stairs
we’d get through the snow to his house
and we’d chug wine and have sex on the floor
maybe that’s all the love i was capable of giving
or receiving
but in the most organic and shattered way
that was love
in the snow
with a hangover and dreams
yet to be broken


When I sit on the sill of the window
of your apartment downtown
and you play records and talk about
your anxiety meds and father
I tell you about my latest panic attack and crush
When we go for walks sipping wine from
a water bottle
talking about religion, philosophy, the reality of aging
When we twirl out of bars at 2 a.m.
having consumed far too much bourbon
and I insist on pretending we’re in a
Jean-Luc Godard film
and you have to wear a leather jacket
When we get back to your place and dance
to Lana del Rey songs
under strings of small paper lanterns
sipping champagne purchased at Grocery Outlet
We dream this is our novel
of fair weather
When we are together
I am safe
as are you
and I hope our dreams and little dances
can sustain through all these storms

Cait Reynolds is a writer and visual artist residing in the Pacific Northwest. She has work featured in several small, independent journals and participates in many area group shows. She teaches art classes at a nonprofit art gallery and is pursuing a MFA in Creative Writing. She is currently obsessed with history podcasts and dead celebrities.

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