My Albatross

Blue curacao umbrella lips unfolding with a flood of gold tequila-soaked tongue.
Laced periwinkle panties wedged between the passenger seat and console heart…pulsating.
Shared maternal trauma:

Yours abandonment,

Mine abuse.

Mein hertz

Amber origami folded into a scarab with ardor wings hiding creased aberrations.
The stutter-start of your tan Toyota Corolla engine leaving frosted hotel parking lots.
4,000 mile proposed rendezvous;

breathless indecision,

the answer:

No

Love letter written on the back of a Germanic map, words ridging peaks of the Black Forest.
Finally visiting your apartment double fisting jewel-toned wine bottles shaped like cats:
Your words sceptered quartz,

one ruby,  

one sapphire,

I can’t be with you

The bright neon glow of bare shoulders swaying in blacklight bars with orange ringed blunts.
Onyx waterproof mascara on streaked cheeks pressing a Rorschach test on your chest.
Friday night relapse:

bodies bare and bedridden,

minds mute and marooned.

We can’t be…

A documentary on the alabaster Albatross flying 16,000 kilometers to find one’s mate.
The morning after a date drinking a cup of blackberry hibiscus soaked in leafy apathy.
An attempt at moving

-to a different country 

-on while holding

schartz

Periwinkle panties, an amber origami scarab, gemstone cat wine bottles,
a lime green tube of mascara, tea bags of blackberry hibiscus, and words
about you, Albatross,

vermillion bound and indigo pressed

into a white blank page…

Ich Liebe Dich

Ariolimax

I was jaundiced as a new
born. My mother would lay

me in the sun, on windowsill,
a birthday cake not quite 

baked. Too much
blood, red cell bilirubin 

not breaking down?
She didn’t know

what was wrong with
me.
That my body needed 

time. I wailed, furious wet
face with snot in frown 

folds. What a slimy yellow
body not knowing how to 

move through this
earth’s glorious dirt:

a miserable banana
slug. When my liver 

learned how to separate
the hard parts of 

me, I became rosy
toddler ready to eat 

cakey mud in weeds,
lawn watered, grubby fingers

lifting goldenrod heads of
sprinklers trying to catch 

snails. Our bodies both
shell-less, sinking into 

all this soft earth, both
trying to thrive.

Photo by Paul Carroll on Unsplash.

Larissa Larson

Larissa Larson (she/they) is a queer poet who lives in the Twin Cities and recently received their MFA in Creative Writing. They have served on the editorial board of award-winning literary journals such as Water~Stone Review, Runestone Literary Journal, and The Briar Cliff Review. Larissa works at a used bookstore, explores the many lakes with their partner, and watches scary movies with their cats, Athena and Midas. Their poems have appeared in Gyroscope Review, Welter Online, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Kelp Journal. Find them on Instagram.