Anna Meister

from AS IF

The night I drew a star around your nipple, I laid in bed
and wondered what might happen next should my heart

pick up speed a little. Cut to my landing calm and glad after
for the nothing pursued. There’s magic in a car full of generous limbs

and the radio at a whisper. To be the only one awake
is its own enchantment. Or else I’m stabbing at ribbons of ham

in a cobb salad searching for words for what I plan to do
with the rest of my life. As if I have four of anything in me.

Trust I am tired of being civil in the grocery store. It’s not hard
to think of exits swung open, every claim made confetti.

Pills twist in my stomach as I repeat the good I know. I grow
less interested in salt, the wiped-down sink, sounds made by children.

Anna Meister holds an MFA in poetry from New York University. Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in DIAGRAM, Luna Luna, Barrow Street, and elsewhere. She lives and works in Des Moines, IA.
Mark Cugini