“Have Your People Call My People”
I fall asleep, relive the time I said
hello six inches away, your face still
soft from dreaming. We were kids. We never
fucked, though we planned to twice & failed
both times. I’m sorry that I dragged
you here. It might be out of boredom.
Can you help? The book I’m writing
at my desk stalled out
poolside. The women have nothing to say
out loud. What if I was you? What if
I’m stupid to keep reaching? I don’t know
how to talk so I dream
us close in search of more
to say. You’ve emailed me at two-thirty
& I forget the season. I text you
when I finish a draft. I call you &
your girlfriend left. I play a violin
for us—the music doesn’t end. I hold
a set of rosary beads, undress slow,
another buy in. That script you wrote: bone,
glyph, so little sound. I’m too shy to say
goodbye so I don’t. I can’t
sleep. You’re there
then not. Cut scene. Elevator buttons.
I stop & wait at every floor, convinced
you’re coming. You’re coming home. You’ll be
there in the airport next to the hot pink cows
& Mr. Rogers’ glass case cardigan.
I’m coming. I’m coming to LA soon.
I haven’t bought the tickets yet. Do you
remember talking God? We disagreed
but I believed in change. A pilgrimage
every year: Christmas in July. I climb
into your bed & dream it twice. How soon
can you be on a plane? I think
I’ll tell the truth this time.
It’s your turn to say why.
Emily O’Neill
Emily O'Neill teaches writing and tends bar in Cambridge, MA. She is the author of two full-length poetry collections: Pelican (2015), and a falling knife has no handle (2018), both available from YesYes Books. Her chapbook of poems about and inspired by the Scream horror movie franchise, You Can't Pick Your Genre, was recently reissued by Big Lucks Books. Her poems and essays have appeared in Bennington Review, Catapult, The Journal, Little Fiction, Redivider, Salt Hill, and Sixth Finch, among many others.
Twitter: @tabernacleteeth