Poetry by Chloe N. Clark
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Pod Person Time
My new boyfriend, the other day, asked me if I wanted kids and I said "maybe I do" but the thing is I don’t, have never, but in that moment the words crawled across my tongue, like spices I didn’t remember adding to my soup, and then they sat there between us. The words looked back and forth, spectators at a tennis game where neither I nor my boyfriend swung. I thought how strange it was for my tongue to have betrayed me now when it has always refused before-- like the time I almost said I love you to the man I probably loved, but he was far away, and I was not, and I said instead "I love that painting behind you." My body wouldn’t betray me. It let me stop calling, stop picking up. "I want kids too!" my boyfriend says, and there is no surprise in his voice, no hint that he is just trying the words out, a shirt at the mall with a pattern he hates but the fabric feels nice. I nod and smile, wondering when I can take the words back, return to myself, away from this moment I’ve spent outside my own mind. The painting was of a field but not at sunset or sunrise, just some ordinary time on some ordinary day, and there was nothing that made it beautiful except for that lack of being exceptional. He’d looked back at it then back at me and said, "I love that painting, too." |
Apocalypse Scenario 1
In the event of a zombie apocalypse, living in the city will most likely mean your death. Infection spreads fast when our bodies are close together. The CDC releases preparation for what they deem impossible, because it’s good to know about infection and they want people to actually read it. Zombies are more palatable than thinking about the diseases we should see coming: the influenzas, the viruses, the things our mothers warned us about. Wash your hands, cover your mouth, protect yourself. There are so many things more likely to kill us than zombies, like waiting too long to go to the doctor, like the slippery tub, like being in a crowded place, like not smiling at the wrong man, like saying no, like trying so hard to believe that everything will be alright. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, rural areas will have some time to prepare. Still, in the event, it is best to run, to go to empty places, to try not to remember the feel of bodies pressing close to you in crowds. |
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Chloe N. Clark is a teacher, editor, and writer. She is co-EIC of Cotton Xenomorph, writes for Nerds of a Feather, and her debut chapbook is out from Finishing Line Press. You can find her on her second home, Twitter, @PintsNCupcakes.
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