Gemini Rising/Poem for Nellie
It was your birthday and I
knew you and I didn’t
know you. Your skin was glowing
like a cloud
You were surviving
to the tune of
light beer
to the tune of
raspberries and a
couple of cows
to the
tune of
Joan of Arc’s head tilt
You were singing loudly
in a way I had never heard
you sing
You were
waving your arms
inciting crowds. You
were behind your
eyes and
you weren’t
Chock-full
of herb gardens
Speckled and frizz, you
were squinting your eyes
and slanting your lips
No, that was another day
This was your birthday and
You
poem for celia
fuzzy telephone person
i’d bless you if your body
weren’t round the clock in pain—
it makes me unable to relate
enter: two unhappy all-
cis-white-able-bodied-
american-girl-girls
passing by most marks
your pain: grief in a shiny black
chrysler with a fat square
grill. you don’t like to talk about it
you tell me, but you can
my pain: mom throws me
under a bus, fingers swell
eye black to go sledding
i ride an upright chariot
into the space surrounding my body
like i have never learned to before
our pain: i need to get on medication
& you need to get off
gum up chocolate on our
front teeth to laugh. a space big
enough to step inside of
my pain: i need to trust
the man i don’t trust, i tell you over and
over. benadryl for bee sting, i thought
i would hallucinate the day you left
corn maze in bowling green
ohio, speaking out memories of
childhood to gain ground in mom’s
jeep liberty. you draw a solidarity fist
in your sorority house, i take course
called “black feminist thought” but
have no black friends. your parents
bought you a black baby doll
a lacey shirt and onyx bra
first love, nylon tent, white bread
sandwich. i am possessive
i am your best friend. camel
filter daisy, teal shadow
dirty toe. black, white & red on
a belle. you cajole to perk
from a different state. my prom date
my sister, my voicemail box
cannot receive new
messages at this time
my pain: smiles under a
lampshade, knuckles inflamed
hook peeking out from inside
nose. you paint my room while
i’m stuck in some amber
you paint me healthy in a stony
blue box. remember how sometimes
you got purple feet?
my pain: dawn feeds
tomato soup
but it mutates to suffering
your pain: not just physical
not foot but coccyx
not sex but fear
obsidian, carnelian
shunghite in matrix
more primitive maybe
even than language
your pain: for which silver
lining is alive. pocket buddha
static, angel-haired and high
your pain: hides from me
in health
and in sickness
meditation, axis, omen
our pain: we can love with
Soft Skillz
I search “socialism vs. communism”
find, yes indeed, they are saltine
crackers, insisting on intuitive knowledge
suddenly aware of feelings
“Sorry,” you click computer game
So I pull my heels towards my back
Spine goes slack, ah
Magnets fall apart
I wash my face of this coupling, this
knowledge and assumption
in bed. Immanuel Kant loves Google
I bet. You slide in beside me, poor sitting
duck, ask me “what?” I chafe
you up good, answer violence, half
an apple. I identify as devil Tuesdays
my emotional intelligence, starlit
self-hate. Oh, too bad. It really is
so sad. To be gas lit by your own back pages
I, I, I, I, I, I
ate three bedtimes
cow tipped the hoo-ha
head circled energy line
looking for a straight answer
Goth pop, sarcasm, motivational
quotes—things could be worse:
I eat shit from the apple orchard
shit pies out the dog walker, cram
bees up my busy body, horror
as my calming agent
Kitchen knife and
a glass of water—I could do
something with it. Call out a pull,
snap my Xanax in half
as a cheerleader for a
small band of snails
My boyfriend is a
hairy train wreck
“It’s amazing you’re open, you
anomaly, you fruit fly.” A
baby and elders
Waves and elbows. Berries.
I hate to say the horse jumped
over the cattle
I really hate the tone of their eyes
What, then, shall I be proud of?
I hate to be funny, hate promises
Fat rolling China through my fingers
Naples Years
Don’t you touch to click
on Land belongs to no one Butter all around my necessity
to forget Jaw crickets fluorescent Sunshine rising thru the
carpet loaded shoe of my apocalypse it’s my job to keep the peace
Shotgun alligator riding through the storm yelling FLORIDA is for LOVERS where
boys wrestle in full suits Canine teeth masked in low level swim
pools I’m waving my bobble hips chewing dust
moths
and sand
As if
Applesauce for the new trifecta
Back of the fridgerator all over my bomb
Crab colored fissure all over my lip smac
Damn that halter absented
Every crème crème brûlée
Forget the face, cut to the jump off
Get douche bag
Hamburger oh
Inside a basement cicisbei
Jelly all over my infj j
Knock when yr teeth crack
Loopy, blue, arty, full
My Myspace space theorem: I am
Negligee for the never mornin
On top are the letters, no
Point but a bee bop
Quarantined from my uniq
Raiding bread stick cafeteria corner
Slushee like raspberry like blue cherry angels
Titties like pubert
Up my Abercrombie beau
Vicious like my Smirnov
Winking from the bottom, shallow
Xan girl on top of the zerox
You fuzzy gynecology
Zilching at my schnozz
Xan Schwartz is a second-year MFA student at Cleveland State University. She spends her time listening to Joanna Newsom and tutoring fellow students at the Cleveland State Writing Center. Her poetry has been published in The Periphery magazine.
Images: Xan Schwartz
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Heavy Feather Review 
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