Poetry by Marilee Goad

The Accident of the Vase

When the vase of red chrysanthemums crashes on the yellow linoleum floor,
Alistair hesitates, not wanting to break the spell of petals bleeding into water
weeping a stained yellow sun rising against the crack of dawn, the black line
between adjacent squares the distance between days he’s lived and days he
hasn’t, the admixture of regret and possibility a bittersweet painting he almost
enjoys, bold and impressionistic. Are you going to clean that mess up yet, his
roommate asks, head deep in the mouth of their dim-lit refrigerator gaping 
emptiness into her eyes seeking sustenance. In a minute, he says, his heart 
racing to capture the emotion crumbling his chest, unarticulated and biting --
I want to see what happens when the colors stop running together and 
everything dries. She lifts her head and pierces his gaze. Just clean it up.



​
tea & a friend 

Midnight and she offers her couch, a last minute film as a means
to prolong an evening we’re not sure if we should end, early
friendship so cautious, so hungry in its beginnings, its fits and
starts cemented by laughter tumbling from tired mouths 

that will ring again in a couple of days, letters sent by text message:
should we hang out again? dinner, and a movie, almost like a date
but the stakes are lower, or maybe higher, in a society steeped in
our growing isolation, how do you sow seeds that grow smiles

you can hang on to longer than the five minute phone call you
place just to say you’ve arrived, their doorbell broken again,
she opens the door and sunlight floods in, its rays so bright
you almost forget the frosty weather biting your nose outside

she says, come in, I’ve just put on the kettle, plonks a steaming
mug of chai in your hands, says, be careful, it’s very hot, and
you’re glad of the warning, but the cinnamon and cardamom
bloom on your tongue so spicy and alive, water you didn’t know

could taste so sweet: winter froze your eyes shut from tears
you shed and the steam unsnaps them, eyelashes relaxing, eyes
so open and hopeful, she’ll want to know what you’re watching
this time and you smile, say, anything, anything at all will do,

all I need is the warmth of this couch, the tea seeping into my
cold body, and you — laughing here, a person I’d forgotten 
existed in the depths of a season that almost killed me with
its bitterness when all I needed was sweetness, tea and a friend. 

Marilee Goad is a queer writer residing in South Korea. She has work published or forthcoming in Ghost City Review, ELJ, Barrelhouse, and Yes Poetry, amongst others. You can follow her on twitter @_gracilis and find her website at marileethepoet.tumblr.com. 

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