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Poetry by Chloe N. Clark

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.

Picture
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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