Two Poems / by Melissa Jones

About a Year

the leaves all drop
at once 
with the rain
last evening 
the transit to work 
looked like 
I shaved the hair 
from my arms 
the hair from 
outside my limbs
all my hair 
for the weather’s sake.

He would like that
He would like to play the janitor 
keep all my body hair 
sealed in a side closet.

He would like to run his mop
over my wet legs.
He would like to take all my pubic hair
and dump it down the drain. 

I can regret the shedding
but trees change all the same

I have thoughts with roses on them 
my walls have posters too.
and in the corner of my room
there are succulents
freezing on a window sill 
somehow still alive
and I do not radiate 
for the cacti’s sake






Mango Fibers

In the shower
I cover my eyes
with my hands
picture whatever
it is from
the outside.

I cover my eyes
with my hands
let the steam
cover my else,
I picture something
of a less-dense
volume rising
then expanding 
behind me
like what
I think
you can do

I still say 
thank you
with your hand
up my ass
and aren’t you glad
I took a shower
today, putting
soap on my tits
putting soap
between my thighs 

I floss and
forget about
the mango fibers 
stuck between
my teeth





Melissa Jones studies words in the Twin Cities. She works in a museum and reads for Gigantic Sequins Literary Journal. You can find her bad twitter here