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Michelle Awad Mar 2020
MODERN LIVING
after Eileen Myles

In the spirit 
of wakefulness 

my neighbors 
ride their bikes

after making 
brunch, together,

wiping sleep from

each other’s

eyes, the dogs

bark

from their balcony, 
their
keys jangle 
in the wooden gate

as they leave,

and that is the 
sound

of modern living. 

I sleep too late,

I hate the morning 

as if it broke my

heart once, and 

maybe it did, back

when youth tasted

like homemade

ice-cream and walnuts

straight off the 
tree, and
I didn’t mind
 having arms

wrapped around

me. I spent the 
simplest days

I will ever know

wishing life were more

complicated, I used

to talk to the sun, it 

used to kiss me and

my shoulders

turned red and

that’s how I learned

about pain, about

being betrayed, about

staying inside to be

safe, I used

to tell people 
that’s who

I got my hair from,

like it was family. I
swam 
in the ocean for
the 
first time and 
decided
it was

where the whole

world’s tears went

after they fell from 

its cheeks, I tasted 
the salt
sticking to 
my chin and 

hoped they all 
had
found out how 
to be
happy. I didn’t know

how hard 

being happy



could be.
I can see why people

take beach trips

to get away, to forget

their troubles, more

and more, 
it seems the

only way to feel 
weightless 

is to submerge

yourself in other 
people, have you ever
felt alone

with the tide

at your feet? my 
neighbors

come home, and

their dogs stampede

into their front yard,

just fragments,

disjointed shadows

behind a picket fence,

and my neighbors

return inside

to clean the brunch

plates, to wipe the

sweat from each other’s

eyes, and foreheads,

and maybe he

kisses her neck and

tastes

the sea

for a second, and

he sighs

with relief, and that

is the sound

of modern living.
Nora Aug 2016
i am hungry and
always wanting to have ***;
i read and feel
i breathe and know
two favorites, one here &
one there, both appetizing
sticky sweet spoons, but
only one allows me to
indulge and say,
Mm.
reference: Peanut Butter by Eileen Myles

— The End —