All the weeping willow girls,
with bent backs like cursive
have all slipped away
for the night
fading into the upholstery
of unfamiliar cars
as the erratic stutter of a drill beat
mellows to an oldie
It’s not quite last call
the girl at the end of the bar
making eyes
is not a cottonwood
but built wide like an oak
cut down
and sawed into a chest of drawers
just my type with a spiral of waterrings
splayed across her chest
one hairline crack camouflaged in the grain
and I like the way she’d look
in my empty room
Sheema Holmes (She/They) tells speculative stories, always questioning whether the present truly exists and to what extent it can be trusted. They often draw inspiration from Black Americana and their ties to the Chesapeake Bay region.