jade quinn
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HEAVY ATHLETICS

is now archived. Below is a transcription of an original poem published in Issue Two, 2016.


Over


I wore this mask
for you. A clay one
that washes off.

I wore it so I’d have my life
together in case you decided to
enter it. I clipped my toe
nails for you. I compare
it to washing the dead
with a wet cloth. I awake
myself from the dead.

I stretch for you
because you play basketball
three times a week. I want
to learn how to grow
hyacinths out of shit
so I can enter your
studio with arms full
of fragrance fresh from soil,
wet and dripping on tile.

Maybe you have carpet;
I imagine this prematurely.
I set aside dirty dishes
I should’ve taken
care of yesterday, making
excuses for the piles
of clothes. I text Becca
saying, “I have no quarters
for the machine,” because
I can’t care for my own
happiness, whatever
that means.








COPYRIGHT JADE QUINN, 2018. LOS ANGELES, CALIF. 90013