Stop Motion Dancing

              to my fizzy brain,
the world is stop          motion            animation.
when I drive on the highway I have the urge
              to twist the wheel infinitesimally            careen
off the asphalt. when he offered

             me a cup, I knew better than to accept. but I did.
sipping greedily, water at the gate of my lips,
              waterfalling down the back of my throat. he said,
              we need to work on ourselves.                              he meant:
you, comma, I need to work on ourselves by ourselves.

              I didn’t understand how I could help him or why
I wanted to. I matched his drinking. he said he needed              space.
              I moved to the Milky Way, came back to find evidence
of another woman. he said he was tired of thirst. I brought him
              a black hole. he pushed me inside.

             his love unfurls like a crimson hibiscus bloom
wilting          away          by evening. at night I am                   left
with soggy stars and stained palms.
             we met on a sticky dance floor, lights strobing
our bare shoulders. if I had known he drank for sport,
not sustenance, I would not have drowned
to please him.


Amanda Hays is from Allen, Texas but lives and writes in Edmond, OK. She works as an
associate editor of the Cimarron Review. Her work has appeared in Cheat River Review and Lost Balloon.

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