i don’t wanna be pregnant but i want everyone to treat me like i’m pregnant
i went to the far away coffee shop
there were no cheddar jalapeno
biscuits, disappointment.
my dad wants a grandchild
and i am settling for a chocolate croissant.
everyone’s either got someone who’s their baby
or once was a baby and my grandma
was once so desperate for cash
she considered letting my mom be
someone else’s baby. mom
says it was a different time, but i
don’t think time works that way.
i am eating something sweet
but want spice and cheese.
still, this pastry deserves
my full attention! this hand-
rolled boomerang. semi-sweet
melting onto my fingers.
here’s how i treat time:
i search my texts for every
instance of my friends and me
calling each other babe
and meaning it; place each one
at the circumference
of the clock and watch the hands
try to hit the marks.
Poem for the Rip in Luka Dončić’s Jersey
You came into the world with no warning
like the rest of us, but silently,
as Luka ran up the court. Moments before
your birth, the ball bounced off the rim:
his third missed free throw. No
exasperation, no expletive, just a
straight face, then you, the camera zoom.
Straight down the middle of the V in Mavericks.
Not five seconds into your existence,
Luka tried to hide you in a clenched fist.
You gotta own it! Said the announcers,
and I am here to tell you, do not be embarrassed
to have been born. Sometimes all
the space between who one would like
to be and who one shows
themselves they are makes one want to rip
the sheet of the reality in front of them
and enter another. Plate shards made
a mosaic of my kitchen floor more than once.
Upside down bottle of seltzer,
a surprise shower. These could be your
siblings; each of you, created to make
someone’s world livable for one more moment.
At halftime, you disappeared and never came back.
Luka returned close-necked. I tried to Google what
happens to a jersey after it’s been ripped;
no answer. O, opening to an opening,
when I once again face a face I don’t recognize,
will I survive without dumping a cold rain on my hot head,
without hitting porcelain with porcelain?
Will I find a way to stare down
the dying person in the trick mirror,
Or will I always yearn to tear
open your wide, possible mouth?
andie millares is a writer and visual artist from New Jersey. She is a Kundiman Poetry Fellow and a Lambda Literary Playwriting Fellow. Her work has been published in Catapult, Reductress, Foglifter Journal, Underblong and elsewhere. Currently, she is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Rutgers University-Camden, where she's written about knockoff bags, Hello Kitty, Kermit the Frog and plastic. Find her defending canned meats on Twitter at @andiemillares or on Instagram @andiewillalwaysloveu.
UZOMAH UGWU is a poet/writer and multi-disciplined artist. Her poetry, writing and art have been featured internationally in various publications, galleries and art spaces. Her work's intention is to draw the eye to something more than what is being seen but felt. She is a political, social and cultural activist. Her core focus is on human rights, mental health, animal rights and the rights of LGBTQIA persons. She is also the managing editor and founder of Arte Realizzata.