Mary-Kim Arnold

Selfie Series (American Midlife Crisis)

Selfie #1

Anne Carson says,

“It pains me to record this,

I am not a melodramatic person.”

But I am. I say, Let the ghost lights blink out our names

across the desert sky, let this be the last thing—

Cried every day, logged it:

Here, in the grocery store checkout line.

Here, driving past the fire station.

Here, in my office parking lot.

The year was unkind, but you:

the map, the territory, the coastline.

Selfie #2

Surrender is a stupid word.

I drive past the roadside stand

where we used to stop for maps and coffee

almost thought I saw you sitting there

your wide stupid grin.

What did you want to say that night

SAYITSAYITSAYIT.

Selfie #3

The boardwalk is oversaturated

and blasted out.

I rubbed my eyes raw,

every figure was yours, every low voice.

My jaw ached,

my bones felt compressed.

I tried to work you off

like a stuck zipper.

Selfie #4

Keening keeps me awake.

In the mornings, stiff-necked and tender-hearted

I use my own hands.

Selfie #5

I cannot remember.

Selfie #6

Coffee tastes like ash.

Water tastes like ash.

I dream you are burning.

I bury you then bring you back.

I keep repeating the word “stupid” like I just learned

how to use it, e.g.: I would burn your whole stupid house down.

Selfie #7

Winter comes. Doldrums of ice.

Selfie #8

Had the dream again. Dug long trenches in the snow,

dragged the bodies in, set them all on fire.

Soaked my sandwich in gasoline then ate it.

Tasted like gorgonzola dolce.

Selfie #9

Let me be the last thing.

The palm of your hand pressed flat against my white throat.

Let’s rinse ourselves numb

in whatever cold grace is left rattling through these hotel pipes.

Selfie #10

I don’t remember my father but sometimes I miss him.

Crying log:

Here, in front of the cardboard box into which I emptied the last of his papers.

Here, at the curb, with the trash.

[salvage/selvage]