IV. Fifth-Year Senior

Everything tastes like love. That’s what
makes me nervous. That and I wish I knew what I will act like

later today. I watch myself being kind sometimes
and I think, is there nothing you won’t fake?

But that’s unforgiving. A smile, a purse, an ax,
these are all things you pick up and carry.

Lately, I pick up the lightest things. I am floating and honored
to drag myself back and forth like a huge feather

across my sleeping boyfriend. He thanks me
by actually changing under my touch. He is smooth

and I worry that I barely feel him,
but doing things no one should see

seems the only good use of my time. He buys me
jewelry I never wear. I love it because it piles up, which proves

I’m alive. The boys my age cry more than the girls do.
They’re always losing games, and those are very symbolic.

My girlfriends and I can’t get off the couch anymore,
and summer is seeping in under the doors.

My friend says people are wrong about us.
It’s the ripe fruit that gets eaten. I say the truth is

I don’t work at things because then
I get them.

Catie Rosemurgy