Heyday
by Kara Goughnour
Heyday
I put Song for Sasha Banks on repeat
and feel the pop and merge of narrow road,
each whirring bustle of tree behind me
each leaf flailing in its new wicked freedom,
each freckle of hair flung
into sun-soaked cheeks by that irascible wind.
We are all learning to live
within ourselves these days,
so in nightmares I drive in circles
trying to visit those I love.
You could fill auditoriums with the sound
of my pulse. With my breath, mistral and fierce.
There, the same fallow deer,
rib cage poking through.
There, the same beaten mailbox.
There, there, there.
You Cut My Hair
by Kara Goughnour
You Cut my Hair
at three in the morning let tufts of musky brown hair hold onto what’s left
hanging a half-made web & I shrug and say May as well take it all
& in late morning or sometime after sleep I hear you singing
over scrambled egg sizzles high Dolly Parton twang & think I hear the words
I love you, or maybe you just say it’s all too much this time I take the razor
to my head & each bump feels like a buoyant tomato set to ripen
in a day or two & at the table you smooth your hand over it while you chew
& we walk when dishes are done our hands hang entangled hinged
backs inlaid with ripened levants each thin sensation of love a spider wisp
between us clinging loosely each previous promise a perishing thing
Kara Goughnour
Kara Goughnour is a queer writer and documentarian living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is the 2018 winner of the Gerald Stern Poetry Award and has work published or forthcoming in Third Point Press, Riggwelter Journal, The Southampton Review, and others. Follow her on Twitter @kara_goughnour or read her collected and exclusive works at karagoughnour.com.