'sag season' and 'sunday', by Noelle Victoria
sag season
your face is sticking to my brain
like a wet t-shirt hung up in the
bathroom after we jumped in the
deep end lit by underwater bulbs
that night we kissed dripping stars
on the chessboard dance floor and
you spun me around until i was dizzy
collapsing under laughter
i haven’t seen you since the last time
you were drunk and didn’t
let me leave
not much of a fight
convinced to stay
no words necessary
too dumb to listen to our
discipline drenched in alcohol
yet too smart to choose each other dry
sunday
every day is Sunday
these four walls are rising with each
whispered Hallelujah
i say to myself just
to keep the peace
between my two brains
on this holy ground i do not kneel
i sit
staring up at the ceiling fan
pulled into a trance
i've watched the spinning blades too long
a true monks silence
i have taken an oath to keep
plaster be my stone walls
i pace about inevitably
standstill i peek my head
out the window to see
if new flowers have arrived
they sway back at me in earnest
it may be a mirage
oh Maria, how i wish my rolling hills were green
but instead
they are cement
my calves are sore
being pulled up by sheer will
and a hope that endorphins will return
my sanity
i cannot sing because i’m out of breath
let alone trill out a melody to capture the
hearts of millions
no
i will just walk back down the hill
and return to the
monastery
where my church bells
tick around a meaningless circle
to help me count blessings
not calamities
as these four walls continue
to clime
here i sit at the end of this microscope
to which God holds His eye.
Noelle Victoria is a poet based in Austin, Texas. If not found at the local coffee shop she's most likely sitting by the nearest stream with her eyes closed and her feet in the water. Recent blurbs can be found at noellevictoria.me.
Photography by Donya Khossrovpour