I said trouble. I meant summer. I can't wait
For summer to be over. Just because you're
Sitting tucked up under a bridge doesn't mean
You're in a tunnel, doesn't mean the weather
Won't find you, doesn't mean the train
Villains up the story just because there's tracks
Below you. We'd bought a six-pack, maybe two,
Once. Once we thought it would be the last time.
That would've been a decade ago, maybe
Two. Our currency is drinks. We both pay
For each other, so we owe each other another
Round. It's because I said trouble, isn't it? I meant
Sugar—I can't wait until it gets cold as wedding cake.
The summer will still be there when we're gone.
That time I meant bridge, love. We're like bringing
A truck to a train fight. We're in the old Dodge.
Our love is the bench seat. My eyes on you, those two
Scalene door windows, unlatched & angled open.
Just because I'm tucked into you doesn't mean
I want this to be over, doesn't mean we're not
The villains of this story. We'll both weather each
Other, owe each other another summer. At any
One time, there will have been two ways you will find
This could've gone. Your eyes on me, a cold current.
Turn the engine over. Our love is angled
Open. The rain velvets up the story.
©
is a writer and public policy attorney working on foster care, juvenile justice, poverty, and homelessness issues in Virginia. She is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and the University of Virginia School of Law. Her poems have appeared/are forthcoming in the Virginia Quarterly Review, Ploughshares, Gulf Coast, Fence, and in the Best New Poets anthologies, among others. She has been awarded poetry prizes by Indiana Review and Puerto del Sol. Amy's essays have run on Slate, Pacific Standard, The Rumpus, Indiewire, and elsewhere.
She lives in Charlottesville, Virginia.
Woolard’s poem “On the Most Terrifying Character in the Wizard of Oz” also appears in this issue.
