escapist daydream
Poetry series by Michelle R. Smith
escapist daydream I
i have left you
& your limp-dicked love
for cali
jacarandas
tacos
&
impressionist skies
our lord’s candles
blood oranges &
a condo by the beach
i go swimming every morning
in a designer bikini
before i make myself
bacon & a
gourmet orgasm
i love the beach now &
have a spot on the sand
that is so happily mine
i forget to miss
what was ours
for an hour i
sun my face &
my shoulders
the emptiness in my hands &
the dying hoya kerrii cactus in my chest
i cry &
i laugh at myself
the sand glitters on my toes
lovingly oiled
baked concha brown &
painted glittery red
i float
by some unbeknownst magic
i have learned to
trust the tide with my body &
my body with the tide
& the ocean is even bigger
without you in it
i take a breath &
go under
i hear nothing but me
& i am terrified
& i am thrilled
i feel on the verge of drowning &
deeply, deliciously free
escapist daydream III
we live in chicago
write books & make music
no baby
no in-laws
art everywhere
we can find it
& food
& wine
we range all over the city
walk by the lake at night
hold hands
laugh just like we used to
& talk & talk & talk
we kiss
& we don’t know anybody named m.
escapist daydream VI
it’s a book event.
not for this book.
the one beyond this.
there are women lined up out the door.
women that read this book &
want to thank me for it.
they are black &
they are beautiful.
their mollies are memories.
just like mine.
their poems are
their still-smiling faces,
their still-loving hearts.
the owner of the store
(she is black too &
she is beautiful)
she buzzes in the back,
behind the counter,
a ready queen.
let them in,
she tells the girl at the door –
oh so young,
oh so black,
oh so beautiful.
my sisters enter in joy.
they fill the space like sun.
they talk & they laugh,
become a garden of baccara roses
a man is there with me –
on my side –
reverend, worshipping –
blown away by them.
he marvels in my ear.
he cannot stop sighing.
he gets it.
that we are a miracle.
i nod, juggle the tears in my eyes –
glory in everything about the moment:
that he is him.
that the sisters are them.
& i am mine.
fully.
finally.
i have left you
& your limp-dicked love
for cali
jacarandas
tacos
&
impressionist skies
our lord’s candles
blood oranges &
a condo by the beach
i go swimming every morning
in a designer bikini
before i make myself
bacon & a
gourmet orgasm
i love the beach now &
have a spot on the sand
that is so happily mine
i forget to miss
what was ours
for an hour i
sun my face &
my shoulders
the emptiness in my hands &
the dying hoya kerrii cactus in my chest
i cry &
i laugh at myself
the sand glitters on my toes
lovingly oiled
baked concha brown &
painted glittery red
i float
by some unbeknownst magic
i have learned to
trust the tide with my body &
my body with the tide
& the ocean is even bigger
without you in it
i take a breath &
go under
i hear nothing but me
& i am terrified
& i am thrilled
i feel on the verge of drowning &
deeply, deliciously free
escapist daydream III
we live in chicago
write books & make music
no baby
no in-laws
art everywhere
we can find it
& food
& wine
we range all over the city
walk by the lake at night
hold hands
laugh just like we used to
& talk & talk & talk
we kiss
& we don’t know anybody named m.
escapist daydream VI
it’s a book event.
not for this book.
the one beyond this.
there are women lined up out the door.
women that read this book &
want to thank me for it.
they are black &
they are beautiful.
their mollies are memories.
just like mine.
their poems are
their still-smiling faces,
their still-loving hearts.
the owner of the store
(she is black too &
she is beautiful)
she buzzes in the back,
behind the counter,
a ready queen.
let them in,
she tells the girl at the door –
oh so young,
oh so black,
oh so beautiful.
my sisters enter in joy.
they fill the space like sun.
they talk & they laugh,
become a garden of baccara roses
a man is there with me –
on my side –
reverend, worshipping –
blown away by them.
he marvels in my ear.
he cannot stop sighing.
he gets it.
that we are a miracle.
i nod, juggle the tears in my eyes –
glory in everything about the moment:
that he is him.
that the sisters are them.
& i am mine.
fully.
finally.
About the Writer
Michelle R. Smith is a writer, educator, cultural facilitator, and native Clevelander. She is the author of the poetry collections Ariel in Black (2015) and The Vagina Analogues (2020). She has been published in poemmemoirstory, Meridians: feminism, race, transnationalism, The Normal School, and The Gasconade Review. She subscribes to the Lamottian literary theory that if they wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. More information about her work can be found online at www.writermichellersmith.com.
