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Mollie Grant Dec 2016
History gets bottled
up, shelved on
its side, and put away
for a day you might
want to recall
all of the vivid

I don’t want
us to be put
down in the cellar,
covered in dust,
as just another
overlooked year.
Mollie Grant Dec 2016
Something happens
when your eyes
catch mine
and I have yet to
figure out if
they truly do
glisten or if
I’ve just been getting
drunk off of your
this entire time
and seeing stars.

Fortify me.
Mollie Grant Nov 2016
Feet hanging from the deck
of the bow, sitting shoulder
to shoulder and thigh
to thigh. I can’t help but wonder
in what ways the salt air
is dancing off of the sound
and over our taste buds,
changing the way we read
the Prosecco between us.

I almost didn’t bring this bottle.
The thought of opening the cage—
six half-turns forward,
wrapping my palm around the
wire frame, twisting the bottle,
by the base, off of the cork—
it all seemed like too much.

There are too many ways
to mess it up, and I know that
I don’t have a grip on anything
when I am around you, but
I no longer believe that bottles
should be left
Mollie Grant Nov 2016
She is lying in bed–
        tucked under her duvet,
        wrapped in freshly
        washed sheets, breathing
        into the phone that I know
        is on her pillow–
97 miles from me.

It is her asthma, acting
up right on time, that
is keeping me awake
so I am lying, under
my own duvet, holding
onto my own phone,
        about the airways
        carrying every breath
        into and out of her lungs–
        inflamed, muscles tightening,
        narrowing paths
        that maybe breathing
        in the same cells, oxygen
        mixing with carbon, me
        mixing with you, you might
        be able to breathe
        a little easier
        that I know
        I breathe easier
        with you
Mollie Grant Aug 2016
When I lay my head down

on your chest, I can feel

the comets shooting through

your veins. Stardust dances

across your skin and I swear,

the freckles on your back

mark out the most captivating
constellation that I have ever seen.

It didn’t make sense to me

how I could sit under

the vast night sky and feel like

it was suffocating me

because it just wasn’t enough

anymore, after I had your arms

wrapped around me.

I guess the universe was trying

to send me a message:

you are one of hers.
Mollie Grant Aug 2016
the needle scratches
on top of the spinning 33
and it just seems easier to play
with the electromagnetic pulse
of a cassette tape until I can pick song
by song, light by laser, what to put on a CD
but what does that matter when MP3 holds playlist
on playlist of mixes in the palm of my hand,
a hand that, seconds ago, had thumb on
edge and finger on label and now
the needle scratches
on top of the spinning 33
Mollie Grant Aug 2016
Thursday night is game night but Hasbro
has never had this one right. Operation is not
a game for ages four and up–maybe four,
multiplied by four, add four, and up.
Surgical mask on, Cavity Sam prepped,
and tweezers waiting to the right of the operating table:

I like to start with the Adam's apple–
carve away any trace of my origins
and they will never figure out who I am
because, like my mother used to say to me,
who is Eve without a blameless man.

Then I move on to the butterflies in the stomach
flittering and fluttering for a home that feels far more familiar
but they cannot be caught, only drowned.

Naturally, the broken heart follows
but the problem with pulling that out is
the never-ending-silence,
white-noise-science, black-hole-giant,
You know, the absence that predates writer's block–

writer's cramp, sliding a pencil up your wrist like it's the
(best kept) secret IV of an author.
Is that the price of filling up your bread basket,
going  to bed full on recognition and reward
and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize?
Be careful not to trip up on your own ego
or you just might end up with a wrenched ankle
and water on the knee.

I still have to deal with the wishbone,
the split-in-two-gravestone,
the only-one-of-us-is-leaving-here-happy zone.

And finally, I have the spare ribs
but I just might leave those there
because we see what happened when God
bothered to remove those the last time.
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