Tag: Marissa Glover

Now More Than Ever

By Marissa Glover

 

You must pretend
this is the first
mask you’ve ever
worn—act like it
is the first time
you hid yourself
at home, away
from the unseen
thing that might
make you sick,
might kill you,
if too much gets in.

Now more than
ever, dream
of snakes walking
into the house
on legs, of teeth
cracking, collapsing
into your throat,
of flying—slowly
only two feet
above the ground.

Now more
than ever, be
calm when folks
call you coward,
cunt; let them
drink a punch—
this darker red
spreading heat
in their chests now.

More than ever
we’re alone,
together.
Everyone is
uncomfortable,
forced to pretend
this is the first
time no one
can see us,
know how
we really feel.

 

Marissa Glover teaches and writes in Florida, where she is co-editor of Orange Blossom Review and a senior editor at The Lascaux Review. Marissa’s work appears in Rust + Moth, SWWIM Every Day, and Okay Donkey, among other journals. Her debut poetry collection, Let Go of the Hands You Hold, is forthcoming from Mercer University Press in 2021. Follow Marissa on Twitter @_MarissaGlover_.

Photo credit: Kristin Schmit via a Creative Commons license.

The man who killed me got out of prison this week

By Marissa Glover

I do not dream of winning
the Heisman Trophy, of going pro
after a standout junior year,
of one day being inducted
in the NFL Hall of Fame.

I do not dream of breaking records
or wearing rings or signing contracts
with Nike and Gatorade. I do not
dream of retiring to the ESPN booth
to offer commentary on Monday nights.

I do not dream of Hail Mary catches
of beating defenders, of dancing in the end
zone after a touchdown. I do not dream
of kneeling for the anthem or standing
for the flag or protesting the police.

I do not dream of justice—there is no justice
to be had. There is only earth and sky
and moms who raise their grandsons
and moms who die from four bullets
to the belly.

I do not dream of who my son will be
when he grows up, where he will go
to college, if he will play the game
his father loved. I do not dream.

 

Marissa Glover teaches and writes in the United States, where she spends most of her time sweating. Currently the Co-Editor for Orange Blossom Review and the Poetry Editor at Barren Press, Marissa was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize by The Lascaux Review for her poem “Some Things Are Decided Before You Are Born.” Her poetry has also appeared in Stoneboat Literary Journal, After the Pause, Gyroscope Review, War, Literature & the Arts, and New Verse News, among others. You can follow Marissa on Twitter @_MarissaGlover_.

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Unsplash.