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Poetry

Molly Silverstein

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Molly Silverstein is a poet from New York. Her work has been previously published in Five:2:One, Maudlin House, Ant vs. Whale, and Typoetic.us. Winter is her favorite season.

Pageant

On the subway I dig my heels in,
Trying to strike a balance
Between before and now,
Anchor my life on a moving train.

Strange, how they look at me
When I’m not holding on.
Expectation and pity.
True, I run the risk of falling

But I do not care. Maybe then
all the candy-crush-playing men
would make room for me.
They would be ashamed

Taking up so much space
And happy that I had failed
To relinquish my core fragility.
It would bring them to their knees.

They would kiss my feet,
Lift me high above the crowd
On a fat green velvet throne
For a celebration in honor of

Ordinary things, the gnats and crumbs
Of normal days, adding up to something
Beyond our comprehension.

Looking around

Last night I dreamt
I was sitting on grass
unable to open my eyes.

There is a roach caught
in the microwave timebox.
We saw it move through
the dark window counting down
from 30 seconds.

We couldn’t figure out
how it got there but we
wondered if it would explode
or turn into a mutant overgrown
from radiation.

Your grandmother told me
she is also an only child
“but not spoiled.”

What a word for the things
we give ourselves over to.
Like overwatering a plant.

It’s delicious,
giving yourself over.
I wish I could do it
with less residue.
I think about your family
a lot. I like your relationship
with your mother and brother
and even the shadow of your father

Other people can seize us
in unexpected ways.
I didn’t even realize I wanted
to live through you
until I was already living that way.

But really it was there all along.
I’ve always wanted to take
someone else’s eyes
and pin them over my own.

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