The Goats Grow Bigger Every Spring
In my head, I weigh down pockets with stones in exchange for the clearing
of chrysanthemum fields.
I stuff petals in my ears, I drown the world out, I just want to hear honey.
To stay as high as I am, I beg long enough that my molars stop breaking
through the glitter. There is no room for soaked sheets.
Sometimes the angels gossip about the feathers in my hair. I cannot
remember the last time something I swallowed stayed put.
Wait to hear a pin drop, for the fat to keep me warm. This sweet-toothed
jabber too loud.
I tuck into a new gown. It brushes the floor, I am floating. Buttons scallop
the skin—zippers indent my back like an opening paragraph.
Say thank you for freshly scraped knees, for the handing out of pastures.
Roll in the wind that coats the grass with pesticides. They’re no good for me
either. Swallow them with mouth closed, I still have manners to uphold.
The solstice is too yesterday to think about now. I gut myself, sell the rotten
parts for market money. I eat all the sweetbread the world offers.
Sydney Shaffer is a junior Creative Writing major at SUNY Purchase. She loves cats, coffee, really long walks in the snow, and poetry.