By the sniveling river you learn yourself: patience.
Slowness. Melting candy in the sun,
damp of the moss, you.

Men will ask you where do you want me to come
Socratic-style to catch you, unstudied, unprepared.
Spit out the first answer that crawls up your throat
and years it takes you to realize—to realize—

You think, when does it stop. The petals of your sunflower
crumple and sink, unsunned.
Receive good news. Spit it into the grounds of your coffee
like a country ward against the unholy.

Rax King

Rax King

Rax King's poetry has previously appeared in Voicemail Poems, Electric Cereal, and Be About It. In her non-poetic life, she spends most of her time lounging in the company of dogs and being funnier on social media than she could ever hope to be in real life.
Rax King

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