WE CAN HAVE A SECTIONAL WITH A CHAISE by Kati Goldstein
WE CAN HAVE A SECTIONAL WITH A CHAISE
Here we are watching the amaryllis change colors in the living room. Here
we are learning to kiss on a dirty wooden floor. Yours was the ninth
tongue to enter my mouth but the first to ever taste like a tongue should:
not metallic or milky, just like mine, only yours. We are equal parts
young & already dead, perfect & all wrong, quartz & aquamarine:
we reflect ourselves & everything else & the sky. Here we are weaving
each other’s scents into blankets, printing each other’s body parts onto
novelty t-shirts. I want to tell you: We can have a bigger garden. I want
to tell you: We can have dogs & babies & a silver staircase or we can not.
Either way. It’s up to you. I want to tell you: We can make the staircase
gold if you want, or platinum. We can make it out of moonstone
even. Here you are watching me dry off with your binoculars, or plucking
a stray hair from my shoulder.
Kati Goldstein lives, works, and writes in Chicago, Illinois, where she teaches at Wilbur Wright College. Originally from Miami, Florida, she graduated with her MFA in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago in 2015 and her BA in Creative Writing from Colorado College in 2013. Her work has appeared in Phantom Limb and Columbia Poetry Review among other publications. You can reach her by email at email@example.com or follow her Instagram, @k.goldpoetry to see more of her work.