Poetry By Hailey Gross

r. nial bradshaw CC




blessing

my best friend has the same name as me
we do everything together/ i think i should be more 
like us but don’t know what that means/or why 
when we go to her house she says things like
we leave doors open here
things like/ do you want anything/ my mom made 
cookies/they say it’s my house/this house 
has no secrets/so i give her mine/and she nods
we float together/between the salt water 
pool & jacuzzi/ imagine we’re birds 
splashing from our nest/she says 
she’s an eagle/ asks me what i am
when i dive under i feel 
the smooth blue tiles/ let my mouth fall 
open/ send air back up in bubbles/say  
i don’t know  yet/to see if she can hear 
me. she asks       can you stay 
for dinner ?  this house has a way to make 
you feel light/the light hits differently
in this house there’s always a breeze through
the foyer/ black and white staged photos
we wrap ourselves in towels/sit goosebumped 
around the fire/ breathe together while we wait 
to eat/someone always prays to give 
thanks/i hold my breath/ like i’m under 
water again/ask for this moment to last
for this to be mine one day when they say bless
these young bodies that want for nothing.



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​trying on clothes, i see myself

becoming my mother—stuff/ing myself into year old jeans/something about shoes that never stop fitting/i never want to throw away. i used to ask/for a new pair each year/new backpack and set of thongs then briefs then/thongs again—always trust a good thong. i hear her/telling me, when you get to be my age you stop/caring. wear what feels good/clothes never made us/feel good, they feel heavy and keep me/from running through sprinklers and when/i finally got my boobs done to make a home/of my body, they were foreign all over again. i stopped buying myself things/now all my money goes to you/all my money would go to me, too if it were my/way. if it were my way mama, we’d put all/the money in the back room full/of shit you think you wanna remember/throw in the too-tight-jeans/fancy bras, dad’s hole-filled socks/any object that starts with the first initial of a guy/who said arm hair was for boys/sprinkle in some gasoline/go outside together(grab the dog), hold hands/share stories we never thought the other would understand./hold hands and cry when we see each other/for the first time/take one deep breath in and out/light the little match and watch while/we let it all fucking burn.





for a moment

we went out toes-ready,
asphalt our stage. twirling and yelling
about friends we’re probably outgrowing
(was the consensus i think). my fupa, showing
& i let it—took my hood off and hugged her
for no reason. we decided the barbie 
movie was more about humanity than anything 
else. ran around front to find deeper 
puddles, drown our bare feet, dreamt
about finding a new state where 
this sort of thing happens—but there 
was no longing in it. we were there, we were 
happening, slapping rose bush floods
with the palms of our feet. there were 
towels, somewhere if we wanted--
but we kept standing, swaying under 
the sky until there was no piece of us 
left untouched. the clothes were heavy
the body was a body. we were all 
we needed to be. 

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Hailey Gross is a poet, editor, and educator from Los Angeles. As a first-generation college student, she earned her B.A. in English Literature from the University of California, Santa Barbara. She's a recipient of the Sarah B. Marsh-Rebelo Scholarship for Poetry and the Prebys Poetry Creative Writing Endowed Scholarship and is currently in the final year of the MFA Creative Writing program at San Diego State University. Her poems and translations can be found or are forthcoming in the Los Angeles Review, Laurel Review, Harpur Palate, Sepia Journal, Poetry International, and Zone 3.