3 Poems//Sophie Farthing
Lesbian Odysseus Reaches the Florida Panhandle
I crossed to the mainland in a hurricane
on a goddamn paddle board, okay? I ricocheted
between ship’s hulls, bounced off of barnacle-sharp rocks,
spit seaweed and soggy palm fronds. I butterfly-stroked
through brine red with sand and sewage,
I slept on the surface, parched and prune-skinned,
I caught breath between thunderclaps,
outwitted alligators, I slithered, I scatted and
shrank, dragged my weedy ass up onto this exit ramp
in white-hot summer sunshine and stumbled
over here.
Aw, I don’t know about that, I’m supposed to
be in bed by now. It’s a nice place y’all got.
The cannibal kink is really not my thing,
but you ladies look amazing. Is it a night club
and a takeout bar? No, thank you, ma’am,
but I gotta say, your zombie makeup is on point.
I’m glad to hear that ain’t actual gangrene,
seen it myself out there a time or two, godawful smell,
you got that right.
You sure I can shower off in here? You don’t gotta
bandage me up, honey, I got my tetanus shot.
I like the concrete, greasy black grout, neon pink
signage, and the cactus plants and the plate glass.
Sexy nurses? I don’t know…
I never was into all that shit, but the purple hair
suits you. I might just gotta sit here
for a minute. Don’t wanna puke on your fishnets.
Not gonna lie, that trip did a number on me.
I got a girl at home, sleeps in pink slippers,
eats spaghetti right outta the pot.
She’s probably sitting up waiting for the payphone call,
mascara circles under those pretty eyes.
Cold tile sure does feel nice on this sunburn.
I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey.
For the Time Being
This memory closes like a clamshell
at my lightest touch.
The exhale of this memory
is the last breath of an old and elfin beast
stretching out stiffened paws in its dry forest bed.
Today you don’t mind if I cry too much.
Home from a forty-minute commute,
you saved a kiss for the crown of my head.
This morning my brothers and I played pirates,
rigged sails from billowing bedsheets,
and now the old oak floors of the farmhouse
creak like the good ship’s timbers.
Your tread in the sheepskin slippers
is as slow as your steady heartbeat.
Old Spice and toothpaste,
coffee and Diet Sprite.
I rub my damp face against the shoulder
of your old green fleece
as the shadows bounce and shudder.
honey look what I got you
what do you say? say thank you Daddy
bought you a present a new leather journal
new writing pencils fuzzy socks put on
your ladybug dress and listen Daddy says
we’re going to buy a horse!
Beneath your sheepskin slippers, the floors go on sighing.
The ship rocks gently on the dining room sea.
It’s almost twilight,
and the red walls are black with lambs’ blood.
“Swing low, sweet chariot,” you croon as you hold me closer,
but I am carried home already,
all warm, all small and safe.
Your tenor doesn’t falter.
We rock at anchor.
You sing right on key.
Sophie Farthing (she/her) is an emerging queer writer living in South Carolina. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in outlets including Impostor Journal, Beyond Queer Words, and Anti-Heroin Chic. Her poetry is also featured in the horror anthology It Always Finds Me from Querencia Press.