By: Jonce Marshall Palmer
for Freddie
I like to let the ash collect
my sunset cherries far too
much steel against these clouds
simple mixture much like sherbet
I’m held back by my bra strap
tethered well into the concrete
waves of swamp swirling across
the fence darling it feels
like so long since we last spoke do
you think Sappho would approve of
us? no regard for that ancient security
we sleep bare chested
smoke curling beside my mouth
leaves twinkling I wonder
how latently these colors wash
our gyri coils forever steaming
we have become so jumbled
in our late-nite searching I don’t
feel like we’ve missed anything worth
weeping over full cinnamon jars
two cups of chai make for a meager
apology allow me to
sweep the concrete clean and finally
take the goddamn garbage out today
looking at it laid before oneself
clear observation deck
appreciating the yellow
spices staining a few dozen windshields
sun-bleached the chair cushion
turns from restaurant red to bruised
peach meat drowsy reconnaissance
and I know what the balcony is for
Jonce Marshall Palmer is a student at Florida State University studying Spanish and Russian. They hope to use their degree to work as a medical interpreter while also writing, publishing, and translating poetry. Some of their other work can be found in Underground (of Georgia State University), ANGLES, and Cleaning up Glitter literary journals. You can follow Jonce on Twitter at @masterofmusix.
"Living in a college town, a lot of people wind up throwing out perfectly good furniture so that ex-tenants can get the hell outta Dodge. Especially in the areas of fraternities and sororities, rich kids will leave very useful and even chic furniture to rot in a landfill. The impetus for this poem was the action I took of dishing two busted chairs out of the dumpster. One chair was a rusty, warped metal chair that would scrape my back. The other was an old restaurant chair with a bright red cushion and a leg that could barely stay fixed to the rest of the chair. I put them on the balcony that unites a row of apartments that faces the backyard of a couples counseling center that’s encircled by trees that are 4-5 stories tall. This was around the time my partner Freddie and I started dating. We have a lot of memories in that shared space.
As all things break down, so too did the mismatched pair of chairs, to the point where I had to put them back in the dumpster where I found them. Fortunately, I replaced them with new ones: nice matching faux wicker chairs from the very same dumpster. At the beginning of this past semester, however, the landlord left a passive-aggressive note on my door saying that the chairs had to be left inside. Nowadays, Freddie and I have to build that space, but then take it back down. "
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