Tristan Loper CC
I share the pride of place with these men,
their monster trucks, skull stickers and blue lives
flags by walking the edge of the ocean and urinating
wherever I please. I hold it in so long it starts
to feel like a disease. My back to the sea, I take my time
to admire newly planted dune grass, cookie-cutter houses
of the rich, the mango raspberry sun setting. Done.
I slice my feet through sand when you catch my eye,
small sea bird. Someone not from around here would
think you’re nestling, your feet tucked under
your underneath plump feather-breasted vocalizations
deep. But I see you waiting it out.
I know the other side of these dunes like
sunglasses plastic knows the tanned man’s
temples. I didn’t park near him. He would bare his
teeth if he knew I peed in his ocean. In my car I click
the driver’s seat as far back as it can go, relax my
muscles in this dominion. I contemplate doing
my nails until an officer notices
I haven’t paid to park here. Chased by the meters,
I move my car every 15 minutes.
You see, I belong nowhere.
My body can’t be trusted.
I need a dermatologist
a deep massage, a lobotomy
I need meds
and meds for the meds’ side effects
and when no meds work I
conjure myself to the side of
the bay bridge.
I need a shower
I need to walk the dog
I need my dog
I need a safe place
quiet as a feather,
where traffic is a whisper
and all panic is subdued by order.
I know this is nowhere.
I’ve been on these sands
through all these years
I still haven’t found it
I am so much older
and more desperate
hunting this thing down -
I’m feeling sick again.
Jessica Heron’s work can be found or is forthcoming in The Horror Zine, Hole In the Head Review, Black Petals Horror/Science Fiction Magazine, and the Tupelo Press 30/30 Project (November 2021). You can find her walking New Jersey’s parks and beaches most days, and at @signature_trash. Jessica is a Poetry Reader for Catatonic Daughters.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.