Every day started on a high in the a.m.,
before prom. I thought it wasn’t possible
to look good in Mammoth Lakes, California,
a middle school dance for grown-ups.
It took me so long to convince my mom
that I hated it, a cluster of diamonds in the stars,
a light bulb of an evil eye, a sharp, noisy light,
a lump of clay that led me to the haircut,
a phase of loudly looking down at
a crowded street, over my shoulder,
seeing sugar smeared in blood.
If you haven’t been following, this month, I’ve been writing poems using phrases from the March 2020 issue of Cosmopolitan. As I’ve settled into this magazine, I’ve come to appreciate it more. There’s something visceral and almost “metal” about it.