Poetry by Shyla Ann Shehan

     Martin Cathrae CC




What now? Yeah, I could eat

               1

               I feel so fucking lonely lately
               like every minute I spend thinking about my next meal
               or how my therapist said I crave acknowledgment
               because my parents ignored me because most things 
               that are wrong with a person are that way because 
               somebody screwed them up before they had a chance 
               to figure out how to be a person 
               in the world
               and the world
               is so fucking broken and on fire all the time 
               like fire and brimstone and what’s a kid supposed to do 
               with that but watch TV and write and eat Cheetos 
               and popcorn with extra butter and salt and nacho 
               supreme nachos with no beans from Taco Bell 
               and breadsticks from Pizza Hut and SweetTARTS 
               and Spree and Hershey's and, as Chester Cheetah is 
               my witness, ALL the Milky Way I could eat
               and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat

               2

               I tried to make my life into a poem
               because I wrote a poem and it felt like a way out 
               like life is some kind of maze and half the battle 
               is knowing which direction to go and writing 
               was a direction and the poems spilled out 
               like children onto a playground at recess 
               and it was easy I didn’t have to think about it 
               and felt better about life and myself 
               as a person
               in the world 
               after writing 
               until the day I didn’t

               3

               I sit in an overstuffed recliner in my room
               and listen to the thunder and rain and think 
               it could be a poem. But the world… 
               the world 
               the world on fire with war and rage, gluttony 
               and starvation, with rocks and sky in slow decay 
               doesn’t want or need my poem 
               about the rain and it’s probably for the best 
               because I couldn’t write another poem now 
               anyhow because there are no more children
               and it’s 5:11 AM and the house is still and quiet
               and it will be breakfast soon and I could have oatmeal 
               with cinnamon and almonds or two eggs 
               over medium and hashbrowns with salsa 
               or toast with peanut butter and maybe a coffee 
               with cream and sugar because I’m alone
               and can have 
               whatever I want





Shyla Ann Shehan is an analytical Virgo from the US Midwest. She has an MFA from the University of Nebraska and her work has appeared in The Pinch, Moon City Review, Door is a Jar Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, and elsewhere. She’s co-founder and curator of The Good Life Review and lives in Omaha with 27 fish, 233 golden mystery snails, and three cats.❀ For more, please visit shylashehan.com.