Tag Archives: Sydney Shaffer

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.

See a Daisy, Pick it Up

The first time I fell down, I had my father

to pick me up. My knee curdled into red jelly pieces,

and my tears started to roll. Drama queen

my sister shouted. From then, I promised

to never play in the rain anymore.

I sat on the benches as my cousins

threw around a muddy soccer ball,

splashing wet dirt, neglecting each and every rule.

They called me referee. I watched

the sky meet the clouds which morphed into mud

caked onto the wings of a honey bee. I remember the walking

and tripping and falling,

and not having my father to catch me anymore.

A daisy padding my scarred knees as I crashed

off my scooter on a bright day. There is something

about the throbbing, I do not remember.

I knew when it started to rain every day, I would have to

break my oath and swallow my crystals.

Protect me from the tripping and falling and

pad my face, so when the soccer ball came at it full force

I’d be left with just a bruise under my eye. Tough bitch

my sister shouted. From then, I promised

to ache and trip and fall and

smell the flowers on my way to the ground.

Sydney Shaffer is a junior Creative Writing major at SUNY Purchase. She loves cats, coffee, really long walks in the snow, and poetry.