Since you're wondering, & No matter what by Sarah-Marissa Marquez
Since you’re wondering
I wrapped up the blue Yankee candle and stored it in a shipping box, thinking it might sell. The garage, full of our stuff, is cold today. Autumn must be creeping through the cracks of the new roof, where rusty nails stick out. It’s not what I expected as a replacement (those people we hired could have done a better job) and I’m not looking forward to the rains coming, coming still. Sometimes, I hear birds landing above my head and duck. It’s silly, my fear, but the sound in my ear gets to me every time. I look around. The garage is a place for everything I collected without intention–just perfect for hoarding my shame over impulse purchases I made when we were fighting, and I didn’t know how to face you and shopping online was a nice distraction. Even Dad used to tease me about it. Only you build pyramids, he’d said, like I am doing one-of-a-kind work. He was loving that way, but you didn’t think it was funny. At least, I’d never seen you laugh. But I am a believer in the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle. Your inner voice whispering, It’s okay to be vulnerable. And I am looking forward to letting you join me. We can build pyramids together. And together we can be responsible for things that aren’t needed now, but maybe later. And since you’re wondering, I don’t trust my hands to decide what stays and what goes, like the China bowls snuggled up in newspaper pages. I think I meant to use them, but they’re so pretty. I wish this power didn’t belong to me or that the garage could only hold so much, but it seems to expand without reason. Without telling me. I step inside and there’s more room to fill. And somehow, the car still fits. There is a little walkway from there to the door where I stop to change out of my shoes and into house slippers. And now that there’s a fly buzzing back and forth, you’ll forgive me for cursing whoever let it in. It is attracted to the smells of bacon frying in the pan and freshly brewed coffee. And now I know you are in the kitchen, making breakfast without me. I can’t say I am okay with it, but maybe just this time.
No matter what
You are you. There is a ripe lemon
sunning itself in the space between
your window and the brick wall.
A second tree that grew out of your
tenderness. You are here. The question is:
Where to go next? It isn’t too late
to turn over—new leaves and all that.
And you are worth it, or don’t you believe?
Princess of getting out of bed at first light,
for the crow pulling off its wings,
another tail feather for your collection.
Remember the white maggot in the rain-
ditch? How it danced and danced
for itself. You couldn’t look away.
You are like that, on the last page,
a cliffhanger promising to be continued.
You go on. Keep moving long legs. Now,
imagine they could take you anywhere.
Find more from Sarah-Marissa on (formerly) Twitter or on Threads @smclaire.jmj and catch our Creator Interview with her on Patreon the day after these poems have gone live!
