Monday, 4 September 2017

A poem by Quinn Christensen

drapeable


he can pick her up.
it doesn’t bother me that he does. but i am jealous

of the way that he can drape her across the arm of the sofa.

i am jealous of the way her arms fall -
elbow thinner than arm, wrist thinner than elbow, click click clicking like perfectly timed gears all the way down.

i am jealous of her bones (not bones) for being a chain of pearls,
an ivory necklace

that would look stunning on her own porcelain collarbones, and no one else’s.

there is something about the way she moves
that makes her seem like she belongs somewhere, that makes her seem

like she’s flying
something ethereal that i can’t quite put my finger on.

so yes, i suppose i am jealous
because lord knows i always wanted to be a fairy.

there is something about the way she moves that reminds me of my best friend

see, my best friend used to be the most drapeable person i knew,
and she isn’t so pretty anymore.
but she also isn’t dying.

so i wonder what it says about her
that she is so pretty.

and i wonder what it says about me that i am so jealous
of the way that he can drape her across the arm of the sofa.










Quinn Christensen is an avid reader​, cat lover, and high school student. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota and spends her free time writing, revising, and spending time with her muses.



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