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9116, Weekly Meal Plan (2 poems)


I tossed the string of spaghetti from palm to palm

until it was cool enough to chew.

He always called me over

for a taste test

while she always

told me to rest.


that house

trapped in amber,

lapped in love.


There’s raw garlic under my nails.

Nobody cares.

The food is burning in the other room,

but we’re all consumed,

full bloom,

sonic boom,

too soon.

I croon,

you swoon.

Dinner is doomed

Emma Sullivan (she/her) is an emerging poet living in Berlin. Her work is modern candor meets feminine acuity meets lyrical rhyme. You can follow her work on Instagram @in_klein_ or see her perform monthly with the Dark Night Arts artists collective.

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