RH2: RETAIL NEVER SLEEPS > POETRY
I am a walking breathing
miser. A sack of potatoes overgrown
with desire to feel the only true feeling:
the rush of a small red heart being
clicked. Jubilant and received
tickled in the upper edge of my cunt
where pleasure is stored and sought
after. I am celibate in bed with my lesbian
mourning, tired and lighting a candle
embedded with shards of jade
that beam green, able to withstand
the hungry force of fire’s yellow oval
sucking greedily at the air devouring it
as I devour as we devour as I am devoured
everything owned by someone else
every phone call answered by a woman
in Bangladesh. Each month more numbers
are subtracted from my lump of numbers
numbers I need in order to make it
numbers that people take for things I want
Like fresh olive bread
and blue eggs with thick
orange yolks. These numbers swell
and stutter, I can not hold onto them
I race them across the entirety of my life.
hannah rubin is a writer and interdisciplinary artist based in LA. They also are and have been: a digital communications manager, front-of-house everything (cashier, waiter, barista, host’ess: you name it & it’s happened), artist assistant, newspaper staff writer, seventh grade teacher, farmhand, artist residency manager, & … Their work explores queer ecologies of gender and relationships, and has appeared in TAGGVERK, Cordite Poetry Review, Pornstar Martini Magazine, BRINK, Bombay Gin, and elsewhere.