Works out, takes the garbage down,
Changes the kitty litter. Goes to her shit
job downtown LA in the basement. Piled paper, red-faced
men. At home later, while God pisses like a racehorse
she comforts rain rattled kitty, holds me tight,
her body pressed close to mine once
crushed with want before want
dulled to need. Hard contours brush
weak knees, touch tender places. She leaves house,
I’m alone. Later lightning strikes more than once.
Thunder shakes our home. I sit before
the lit up curtained window, afraid.
Like wild horses roaming the reservation, she arrives
at night. Hope she’ll mount me. Wrap her body
full circle around me.
Carla Sameth’s memoir, One Day on the Gold Line, was published in 2019 and her chapbook, What Is Left is forthcoming. Her work appears in literary journals and anthologies. A Pasadena Rose Poet, a Pride Poet, and a former PEN Teaching Artist, Carla lives in Pasadena with her wife. @carlasameth (she/her) carlasameth.com