Suzi F. Garcia

I Have Long Lost a Concept of Sleep

Snakes are building a nest/in a bed so I walk/ away/ My eyeliner is smeared / rain drops mix with tear drops & dried sweat/ my hair gains new curl before thickly falling/I swish swallow  spit champagne and Chambord/ hit clubs so dark / I can’t tell—was that you was that me? / A rhythm pumps through my skin/ move towards/ body heat. / I’ve stopped trying to tell /what my feet are doing  / I    swim /     gasp     over water & find warmth/ in isolated spots of my body fingertips/ burn /my breasts/ I am lost/ in the strobes. /I want to stay here forever/ home is a far-gone prospect & the heat is out / in my car but here I can seek out moments of spotlight /No one follow me /because I step/ I bird/ I am a woman whose toes curl backwards/ break off When do neglect and indulgence become the same things? / My emotions suffocate /under dust. I find a section of earth & /pantone. I carry longing / in the scars on my thighs /& when I look in the mirror I wonder/ if my lover would recognize me? / I sparkle pearl & moscatto but break open pink / My thoughts unravel like ribbons / I swim silver skin in / diamond dark, my heart pierces through / the atmosphere light up/ under the moon & / dance shadow, the cool of it all. I hit up an abandoned / Ferris wheel/ redstains across my body & talk /selfsweet tonight climb/ My lungs icicle & /seagulls become discarded tissues behind me/ Mud slides between my toes/ I turn / to a stranger in the water below / whose face is mine but not mine/a cousin I never met /   gatita, let’s jump/           she calls           /& the ocean comes to me in an embrace, there—/ 

I Learn from History

The Queen of Versailles gave me lessons
on scapegoating over tea, so tonight I lay down,
and Every Man steps right over me. From the ground, I can see
a squirrel bury a nut, but the future can’t be trusted to arrive.

                                    Pat pat pat pat into the Earth:
I haven’t left my kitchen floor in weeks, but I have
a plan. Streetlights open up on every block: veins, saturating
anything around them. I dream of a step forward each moment,
and I will ask the questions that suffocate deep in my chest,
the ones that I cough up when I’m alone: red, black, and green.

Why does my anger scare you? Are you afraid of me
or are you afraid of what will happen
if I stand beside you?

I want to purge this, circle the parking lot, salt the asphalt,
grow whole universes in darkness. 

But until then, I survive five miles under ice,
with other extinct things.

There I indulge in morbidity,
watch in silence as my flesh loses blood,
stiffens, loosens from my body. The gap between
cheek and cheekbone fills with slush water, I come apart
under teeth like butter knives, but the fish assure me
I am not feeling a thing. 

Suzi F. Garcia

Suzi F. Garcia is the daughter of an immigrant and has an MFA with minors in Gender Studies and Screen Cultures. She is an Editor at Noemi Press, and her writing has appeared in or is forthcoming from Fence, Vinyl, Apogee, the Wanderer, and more. You can find her on Twitter at @SuziG or at suzifgarcia.com.

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