And Now, a Word from Violet Beauregarde

I told you I was more of a gum girl.
But you offered something I thought I should want,
so I didn’t refuse.
I was a child, after all.

You reminded me of someone I loved:
cane on cobblestones, slow mornings in the park.
It was a lie.

Augustus was the first to name that place Eden –
a paradise, a trap set with human desires.
I watched him calculate his freedom: chocolate, pipes,
the velocity and force of manipulation.
Our only exit was through the door of humiliation,
and he opened it so that we could walk
through. We all knew
Charlie would be the only one left, the only one
who looked in gutters for hope, the only one desperate
enough to preserve a world of pure imagination.

The Dangerous Animal
A Golden Shovel for Ada Limón

I see this
much is true – I am too big
for the spaces I inhabit; a dangerous
body in forbidden places. I am the animal
stalking the edges. It is
a wonder I am still here. Also,
you. You are still here. I am a
lot, in the way that a requiem shark has teeth. No part
of me is sorry for that. Still, you knock on the door of
my mouth, wanting to know me.

 

Amanda Roth (she/her) is poet, photographer, and former clinical social worker. She is the author of the full-length poetry collection, A Mother’s Hunger (2021), and is featured or forthcoming in Wild Roof Journal, Sunday Mornings at the River, and Rag Mag Revival. After nearly two decades in the Pacific Northwest, Amanda now lives in Central Texas with her husband and two sons. Find her on Instagram @amandarothpoetry