Hey—won’t you play another somebody

Cat’s eye. Tumble dry. Nothing fits
the way time slips around us.

You and I. Some Barbra Streisand song
& still it’s not right: we never were,

and yet. Can’t let a sleeping dog.
Lie to me. Tell me the secrets

you said were real. Whisper in my ear.
A year of nights with you and still

I’m gone, one foot out. Don’t trip.
I can’t lift you to carry across the threshold

of this secluded place. My hovel. My home.
My tidy little shelter from the.

Everything spinning. You and back again.
No reflection. Nothing of me.

Step on a crack, break. It’s a big blue,
& my eye wanders. It’s you. I wonder.

Brandy McKenzie has published poems in more than three dozen literary magazines, and worked on the editorial boards of three different nationally distributed literary magazines. These days, she mostly works as a paralegal, teaches critical thinking and writing to community college students, and tries to provoke conversation about the alternate history she’s sure we’re entering like some sort of waking dream.

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