Laura Buccieri

 

eats ice cream
in the snow
in february
in new york
because they’re on vacation

and nothing else matters except
that they are not where they normally are

something else is happening
when i stop at a crosswalk
when i’m supposed to
i’m obeying a primal desire

when i don’t get fucked
after buying myself dinner
something is being inverted

and i get sadness
from my inability
to move a snowflake

it’s unbelievable that i have
a place where sex happens
on an occasional weekday

a place where i care more about you
getting eight hours than getting close
enough to me close enough
to the saliva i want to leave
on each of your breasts

we live in a place
where the bed is always made and
that doesn’t make it more fun
to mess up we both

eat meals of carrots and cry
at a wooden kitchen table

it’s foolish of me to think
love would be any different
than being sick on vacation

 

Laura Buccieri lives in NYC, where she is an MFA candidate in Poetry at The New School. You can find her forthcoming and most recent work in Metatron, Bustle, Prelude, Potluck, PANK, Word Riot, The Seventh Wave, Reality Beach, Nourrir, Yes Poetry, Public Pool, Entropy, Red Paint Hill Publishing, Cosmonauts Avenue, and FORTH. Her chapbook, On being mistaken, is forthcoming in 2017 from Red Paint Hill Publishing. She works at Freeman’s Journal, Lit Hub, and Berl’s Brooklyn Poetry Shop. Check out more of her work here: laurabuccieri.com.

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