Potluck

 

We're making some fixes under our table...

Potluck 2.0 launching soon! See you in the new year!

 

Two Poems

Two-Hundred Eight
 

I mostly miss the smell 
like mud-sunk cardboard
and broad acrylic canvas
characters / sitting
characters / tendons taut
in throbbing ankles of these
characters / house cats pawing 
at waterlogged couch cushions 
of front porches, foyers

and I’m amazed by you 
by the steady breaking 
as I crawl away from you
and the tooth-aching seizure 
as I smell you and smell you
in the dead air / stuck
in the fibers of these pillows 
coupled on my damp bed

no memory exists 
without its sensory 
c o u n t e r p a r t 
so I hose down
moving boxes
and sleep soundly atop.

 

 

 

 

Hot Glued
 

it's kind of like tripping
over uneven pavement
or the cracks in Rea Rd.
the way we used to walk home

so busy laughing at trees
i'd forget their leaves
and fall, scraped knees
mirroring yellow grass

Your mother's lips 
would right my patella 
Your father's singing 
would stop the red

we'd sit on the couch
‘til the moon came out
You'd call me a scaredy cat
walk me home

where i'd lay on my mattress
and dream of Your ceiling
hot glued glow-in-the-dark 
Bethlehem stars 

it's kind of like tripping
but i don't fall anymore
i just keep gathering speed
exponentially: stumbling

way down Rea 
past Bryant Farms
clutching at stop signs
all along Mockingbird
Headford 
&c.

until my soles are worn through
and You wave from your porch
as i keep tripping
and tripping
and tripping
on past

 

 

 

C.T. McGaha is a writer from Charlotte, NC. His work has been previously published in Gambling the Aisle, Haunted Waters' Press' From the Depths, and Crab Fat Literary Magazine. When he's not writing, he's driving down Central Avenue, blasting Outkast's "Aquemini."