C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

what comes home with you at night?

By: soleil garneau


you’re waking up in this room again it’ll rain - like it does

you love only a few things and you love em hard a snake slides outta its skin

the facades are sun-faded i watch you walk inside

the insides are sun-faded nothing really moves

the lovers are tiptoeing away from their tryst there’s a cat in a window

there are legs a hundred miles long the sun, reaching towards earth

we’ve all had times like these like a spell when maybe i can do goddamn anything I coulda stayed out all night with no panties

on rooftops anything to do something wretched

to match my wretchedness

i jumped off that building so i couldn’t move my leg shrank down to skin and bone


i couldn’t move so i watched faces go by and mine sagged / melting like wax in the louisiana heat like roads that curve

it’s fall now it’s another city

there is a halo of rain around your body


i remember the subway

and how it snakes when i was my own romance moving like the wind

throwing myself around





Soleil Garneau was born and raised in New Jersey. She works as waitress, and otherwise spends her time reading, writing, and crafting. She is currently based in Los Angeles.