South
by Samantha Malay
published August 19, 2019 in Genre: Urban Arts, No. 8

South

inside my suitcase
in the trunk of the rental car
clothes wrinkle around motel soaps and rolls of film
the horizon floats above the dashboard

another summer
swimsuit straps tied at my neck
I leaned out the window
yellow lines slid under shadows of tires

lock the screen door
when the yard gets dark
I’ll call from a pay phone
when I’m close to the border

Inland
by Samantha Malay
published April 4, 2019 in Projector Magazine
http://www.projectormagazine.co.uk

 
in the seams of sleep
the curtains were stained where they stuck to the glass
answers were eavesdropped
and icicles dripped from the roof of the porch
while our coats hung on nails and bread baked inside
near a hinge in the floor where we left all our questions
like cups upside down to guard against bugs
and handwritten notes under root cellar jars
between bent hasps and splintered slats
pillowcase creases and windowsill light
I am pulling on threads and begging the ash

Altar
by Samantha Malay
published June 1, 2019 in Blood Tree Literature
https://www.bloodtreeliterature.com/poetryi5?author=5ce47ea1456b8f0001589f5b

 
count the days
and bones beneath your shirt
when berries of the mountain ash
line the empty pond

trace the knot in the wood
where the branch used to be
scrape the jar
yield to winter

Hollow
by Samantha Malay
published in Quiddity: International Literary Journal and Public Radio Program
http://quidditylit.org/issue-11-2/smalay/

 
in a car the color of an ocean map
on a circular road that led south to north
we stopped at a house near a dead-end street
where we sat on the floor
in sun-bleached clothes

we can’t get our bearings
with our backs to the mountain
and the horizon holds only what we don’t want here

roll up your sleeping bag
tie your shoes in the dark
we’ll cup water in gas stations
between night and day

Adrift
by Samantha Malay
published in Quiddity: International Literary Journal & Public Radio Program
http://quidditylit.org/issue-11-2/smalay/

 
I drink coffee from a styrofoam cup
lift our bags into the trunk
pull a map from the glovebox.
It’s so early most of the truckers haven’t left yet.

I can see you in the motel office
and I can see the corner of an orange bedspread
on the floor of one room because the door is standing open
letting bright hazy light in.

A housekeeping cart is parked outside
and what was ours will soon belong to someone else.

Harvest
by Samantha Malay
published in Sheila-Na-Gig, volume 3.2, Winter 2018
https://sheilanagigblog.com/

 
back out of the driveway
windows rolled down
a map of each room in your mind
we are equal parts empty and full
together and alone
the space between the beads and the string

open the envelope
it holds more than words
seeds unsuited to our season of drought
promises of peaches and plums
from branches grafted to a single trunk

keep your horse from the quarry ridge
eat peas from dried vines
crouch in the shallows with creekwater mint
you are rootless and lucky for now

Field Study
by Samantha Malay
published in Sheila-Na-Gig, volume 3.2, Winter 2018
https://sheilanagigblog.com/

Could you see the shape of here from there
as you rode your bike along the shore
the summer you turned twelve?

feasts of gleaned fruit
a place to sleep between the trees
and water in the ditch

Did you trade mystery for certainty
one night around the dinner table
or some dawn
in the fishtank glow
of a livingroom on Orchard Street?

fold the baby’s blanket
there are thistles in the grass
and upturned nails

Did birds fly near
when you circled home
and stood in the unlit kitchen?

with a lack of ritual
we held your hands
and knew no words to harbor you