Two Poems
Elena Kovatcheva
But You Know Better
You will be in your car,
at seventy-five miles per hour.
The quick whoosh sound will echo as cars pass by,
and you’ll think,
“Cross that double yellow line
towards the oncoming traffic.”
Or
You will be standing at the edge of a cliff,
looking down at the miles of jagged rocks
the sea loves to pound against,
and you’ll think,
“Just jump.”
Or
You will be waiting for the train,
the loud booming of the whistle
approaching as the ground trembles,
and you’ll think,
“Climb down onto the tracks, quick.”
Or
You will be gazing into the bright, red fire,
the warm flames so inviting,
and you’ll think,
“Let me touch it.”
Or
You will be cutting apples,
slicing the chunks down to smaller pieces,
when your glance locks on a finger,
and you’ll think,
“Let me chop this too.”
The call of the void wants you,
like a siren’s song wants a sailor.
But you
keep driving in your lane.
Step back from the ridged edge.
Wait to board the train.
Watch the fire.
Eat your apples.
Two Drunk Girls In A Bathroom
She stumbled into the bathroom.
Her raven hair,
Once tightly curled,
Now ran wild down her back.
She wore mascara–
The one that said “waterproof”
But streamed down her cheeks.
Her brown eyes took in her reflection,
which appeared exactly how she felt.
In the mirror she caught a movement,
But it could just have been the drinks she’d downed.
A soft, manicured hand rested on her back.
It was a girl–
light brown hair
rolled down her shoulders,
light glowed behind her,
An absolute angel…
But it could just have been the drugs she’d done.
The girl pulled out some toilet paper from her pocket,
Her “frat party bathroom” stash,
And helped wipe off the black, Nile streaks.
“Don’t let no boy cause you those tears.”
The raven girl cracked a smile
And asked how the angel had guessed.
“We’ve all been here.”
Running her fingers through raven girl’s locks,
the brown-haired one spoke as if she was a god.
No compliments ever sounded so sweet,
So true.
They were the commandments which girls remind each other of
In tiny, dirty bathrooms.
Elena Kovatcheva plans to graduate in May 2022. Her home town is Astoria, New York.