by which I mean what comes to mind
now and squeezes my throat
are those nights together
on the floor of the living room
the ridiculously large C.D./tape
combo between us and the C.D.s
you scammed from Columbia House
music club. How many times did we hit
repeat on Chris Isaak’s “Somebody’s
Crying” and Guns and Roses
“November Rain,” the only song
on that album we liked. A girl song,
Bobby, the floppy-haired neighbor boy,
told us. And so fucking what? We were
girls. Two girls warmed by the heat
of the other’s skin, laying
parallel on that scruffy carpet, watching
the waking sun peak through the windows.
How many nights did we not sleep,
choosing instead to plan out a future
neither of us could actually picture,
only one of us would
live long enough to try for.
Dear Carole, My favorite times, by Sarah A. Chavez | Poetry Reed Diffuser
Sarah A. Chavez, a mestiza born and raised in the California Central Valley, is the author of the poetry collections Hands That Break & Scar (Sundress Publications), All Day, Talking (dancing girl press), like everything else we loved, (Porkbelly Press), and Halfbreed Helene Navigates the Whole (Ravenna Press’ Triple Series). Her new project, In the Face of Mourning, was awarded a 2023 Scholarship & Research grant from UW Tacoma’s School for Interdisciplinary Arts and Sciences and a 2025/26 Tacoma Artists Initiative Project grant. Chavez teaches creative writing and Latinx/Chicanx-focused courses and serves as the poetry coordinator for Best of the Net Anthology. More at sarahachavez.com.
