Untitled

I cleaned all day
(The apartment is still a mess)

I scrubbed the tub
(But only see the bits of rust
Collected around the faucet)

I wrote a dozen poems
(Then drowned eleven of them)

I polished the silverware
Until my fingernails were bare
(And bleeding, cracked crimson
All over the granite counter)

I washed my hair,
Even shampooed it twice
(But my grandmother's voice
Rattles between my temples,
Her hands around my tangles
Holding me over the kitchen sink,
Just to teach me a lesson
On how to get the grease out)

Brush Strokes

He slept on the living room couch
In between packing his things
And saying goodbye to me.
The reckoning still makes
Little sense to me,
But it painted a portrait
That colored my love
As I trudged forward;
Endings felt forevermore.
Museums felt full of forgery
Until you were placed
Artfully in front of me.
Perfectly timed,
The afternoon light hitting
Your face just right.
Afternoon tea turned quickly
To you bringing me coffee
As I curled my legs up
Under your covers;
The morning light hit your plants,
Shades of green a kaleidoscope
Across your studio and then
I remembered even Picasso
Had a blue period;
We are always becoming
And unbecoming works of art.

Maggie Bowyer (they/them/theirs) is a poet, cat parent, and the author of various poetry collections including Ungodly (2022) and When I Bleed (2021). They are a blogger and essayist with a focus on Endometriosis and chronic pain. They have been featured in Bourgeon Magazine, Capsule Stories, Plainsongs Poetry Magazine, The Abbey Review, Troublemaker Firestarter, Wishbone Words, and more. They were the Editor-in-Chief of The Lariat Newspaper, a quarter-finalist in Brave New Voices 2016, and they were a Marilyn Miller Poet Laureate.