Ephemera

Louisiana. Look how far away she seems.

The woods around us:

those yellow leaves fallen

like faint meteors in the gloom

past her Benton Road.

It is a holiday, so I’m visiting my mother

After all, She, (once sparkling) has,

once again, abandoned herself

in the front seat.

I have not yet forgiven her

for this eating disorder and yet

my brother and I sit in silence

when remembering her own.

Quick Ballad of the Foxhunter

Greed becomes my uniform, yes

but I lack the confidence

to wear it regularly.

What if his manhood

was my manhood?

I try us again in the grass,

in the mud,

wood, hut, and again

in his house.

My brick, our room, stolen mirrors.

Lay me, carry me, bring me

the soft chair. Command me

to become more like you.

Jessie McCarty is a Southern, Irish-American writer in Chicago. They have been published in The Minnesota Review, The Documentarian, Don’t Submit Lit, Thick Press, and more. Previous collections include The Bovine Huff (Track and Field Studios, 2021) and Our Fairy Diary. Their experimental research has been published as chapbooks for the following theatrical productions: The Sarcoma Cycle, Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions: A Homo-Turgy, and Perforated Play. They write the newsletter Poetic Classifications on Substack.