Caroline Shea

Ars Poetica with Burnt Coffee

I come home sticky-sweet, wrists ringed
with dried whipped cream. Nails caked
with coffee grounds. Go ahead, lick me clean,
scrape the syrup off my cheek.
That’ll be $2.50. I am most myself
in pieces. In active shooter training,
our manager tells us:               Run first.

Instead, I shrink, make a smaller target.
Rain nickels into so many open palms.
I’ve touched your softness, plastered
a smile on my face just for you.
My brew swilling in your stomach,
that small warmth
the one thing I’ve made today.

I let the phone ring.
Dear Customer, I married my fear. He treats
me like a queen. Never leaves my side.
Slips me from bed with sweet nothings:
not enough, not enough. My self
a pit I throw my voice down. Training my ear
to stitch something from echoes.

I am a body first,
a person second. Yes, I would run
if I had to. First, let me take your order.
The arches of my feet ache into moons.
Train me to be satisfied. To satisfy. I forget myself
daily. The second rule, after run:
I must leave you behind.

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Caroline Shea is the author of Lambflesh (Kelsay Books, 2019) and an assistant editor for Washington Square Review. Her work has appeared in Crab Fat Magazine, The Pinch and Tinderbox Poetry Journal, among other publications. Recently, she received The Pinch Literary Award and was a finalist for the Brett Elizabeth Jenkins Poetry Prize. She's currently an MFA candidate in poetry at NYU.