One Night in the Midwest

By CATHERINE ESTHER COWIE

I smell her—
she is in the bed sheets
conjuring aged summers
when popsicles stained
our mouths red,
and the sun colored
our noses black.
We wore her jewels proud,
brown bodies glistening
in our neon pink and purple suits.
She tangled our hair with her touch,
kissed hard, too often,
rolled us around until we landed
back flat on the shore.

How has she come here,
left her scent?
I hear her,
the missing roar
in a left-open window—
a call home
to her sargassum-filled belly,
and dirt roads twisting
around sodden hills.

But I am accustomed to this place,
the naked trees open to the sky,
the neat brick apartment buildings,
the thick white thighs of winter.
How do I tell her what she is now—
a closeted self,
a party-trick I pull out
—sad story of missing the sea.

 

Catherine Esther Cowie was born on the Caribbean island of St. Lucia and has lived in Canada and the U.S. She is a graduate of the 2017 Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop, and her writing has appeared inThe Penn Review; Glass: A Journal of Poetry; Forklift, Ohio; Flock; and Moka Magazine, with new works forthcoming in Potomac Review, Southern Humanities Review, and Portland Review. Recently, she graduated from the Pacific University low-residency MFA program. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

[Purchase Issue 19 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

One Night in the Midwest

Related Posts

A photograph of leaves and berries

Ode to Mitski 

WILLIAM FARGASON
while driving today     to pick up groceries / I drive over     the bridge where it would be  / so easy to drive     right off     the water  / a blanket to lay over     my head     its fevers  / I do want to live     most days     but today / I don’t     I could     let go of the wheel  

The Month When I Watch Joker Every Day

ERICA DAWSON
This is a fundamental memory. / The signs pointing to doing something right / and failing. Educated and I lost / my job. Bipolar and I cannot lose / my mind. The first responder says I’m safe. / Joaquin Phoenix is in the hospital. / I’m in my bedroom where I’ve tacked a sheet...

Image of glasses atop a black hat

Kaymoor, West Virginia

G. C. WALDREP
According to rule. The terrible safeguard / of the text when placed against the granite / ledge into which our industry inscribed / itself. We were prying choice from the jaws / of poverty, from the laws of poverty. / But what came out was exile.