James Howe First Prize (2013)
Love Poem
Katherine Wooler
I tried to find us a love poem.
I looked in the grocery store behind the Kraft Dinner
and down the aisles we wander weekly,Ā
debating breads and popcorn. I triedĀ
to extract one from the car,
where we belt out Nicki Minaj and apologizeĀ
for fights with leg squeezes over the gear-shift.
I thought I could get something out of the pianoĀ
or the waffle maker,Ā
but all I got were lines of dust and crumbsāremindersĀ
of bad housekeeping. I even went back to that parking lot
in Armdale, searching among discarded cigarettesĀ
for an epiphany I know I once had, but I was distracted by crowsĀ
pilfering garbage cans and the crackle of plastic in the wind. I looked,Ā
devotedly, for our love poem.
I stared at my toes and listenedĀ
to infomercials, pulled apart orange segments. I almost had itĀ
as I was falling asleepāsomething about the way you squeeze
the last bit of toothpaste out for meābut suddenly I ended upĀ
in a dimly lit basement, cracking billiard balls and circling tables,Ā
until you whispered me awake, tracing my nose with a fingertip in the dark.
I tried to find us a love poem,
but all I found were the white acid marks
of an orange on my palm, making city grids from my life linesā
a little life for us drawn in citrus chalk, with radio pop, deli counters,
and microscopic tubes of toothpaste.