three poems

Chelsea Tadeyeske

LIFE IN GROCERY STORE LIGHTING

i try to catch the scent of things
that almost happen

the sky is damp in the center,
crumpled, like a used tissue

i can’t find the grief
that hides itself
in errands

if you asked me
what hurts
i could point
or maybe just
stand here
let you
figure it out

the shape of my puddles
as unique as
teeth

how much of my body
is doing something
i didn’t authorize?

there’s an old VHS of a birthday
i was so small i didn’t have bones yet
just feelings

they say sodium kills you slowly
but so does any decision

sometimes i think about children
not as people, but as weather patterns—
pressure systems moving through
what used to be my quiet

my insides are bored of me
i need to focus on boiling water
organize the clothes i wear
when i hate myself

what if i build someone
who thinks clouds are edible
eats one just to see

sometimes i like to name them
like testing the temperature
of a very deep lake

if you scream into a hole
the hole remembers
holes have memories

like small animals
that made it halfway
across the road

my mother texts
to ask if i’m praying

each answer i seek
involves baking soda

i pretend it’s beautiful—
how the hair on my arms
looks darker and thicker
when wet

i wonder if any of my periods
were actually miscarriages

my eyes on the sky
as if it’s not
looking back