POETRY June 7, 2024

I’m coming to terms with my body

in the Buster’s bathroom, staring

straight into my own eyes while

my friend pisses and drunk girls knock.

I look so much like my mother the mirror

startles me. My bones have always been

heavier than hers. Mood stabilizer bloat.

Impossible hunger. Stoned all the time.

Stretch marks and signs of fight.

I’m trying to eat the peaches

before they mold, to freeze the bananas

before they bruise. We kiss early

in the night, before the room starts

spinning. I taste the heat of her sunburn,

box fan blaring, back arched.

I keep waiting for the sweet to spoil,

to wake up in the grass because the party

was too much. A guy at the bar told me

it’s almost impossible to be killed by a train.

That if it happens, it’s really your fault.

Claire E Scott is a poetry candidate in the University of Arkansas’s MFA program in Creative Writing & Translation. She has poems published or forthcoming in Booth, HobartWest Trade Review, and others. Claire is the Arkansas International’s poetry editor. A native Arkansan, she adores her cat Garfield and does stand-up comedy.
Social Media: @coffee.claire Instagram | @bleachedclaire X/Twitter