Lexy Maas

The laundry room smells like ladybugs.

When will I see you again?

The first half of that book was dreadful but
it really picks up at the end.
My mom only eats cashews and oranges.

If I don’t write at least one sentence
every day my hands get fidgety.
Women shouldn’t have to pay for anything;
we’ve paid enough.
I like to get high because it makes me
think just one thought at a time,
and I can’t explain how relieving that is,
to not have a pinball machine in my head.

My ex-boyfriend crafts love letters to
the girl he imagined me to be and she
architects hateful sonnets to the change in weather.
The elephant in the room is drunk,
and maybe so are we, but elephants
are also highly empathetic, and I would never
use that word to describe you.

How many cups of coffee
does a sane person drink each day?

My train of thought is a clown car and I can’t
apologize if you can’t keep up
with every tuft of red hair that pours out of it.
We have ants in both kitchens and my brother
doesn’t know how to rinse off a plate.
I haven’t filled out my tax forms or called
the eye doctor but I read four novels this month.

Do you ever get that feeling like you’re thinking
of something incredible and then
for a fraction of a second
you get distracted and you can’t remember
what was so good only two clock-ticks ago?

That’s how I feel now when I think of us.

Lexy Maas is studying in the creative writing MA program at Eastern Michigan University. She has previously had work published in Alma College’s Pine River Anthology.