Cadaverine Magazine

  The last time I flew back to Los Angeles I remembered when you sat in front of me on an airplane, 23B. I spoke to you through the split in the seats. I told […]

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Sam Bellamy is a recent graduate of Occidental College, where she studied comparative literature and edited the literary magazine. She currently lives in Los Angeles, a city that provides her with a wealth of subject matter to write about.

Information

This article was published by Helen Bowell on 15 May 2017, and is filed under Poetry.

Katydids by Sam Bellamy

 

The last time I flew back to Los Angeles

I remembered when you sat in front of me

on an airplane,

23B.

I spoke to you through

the split in the seats.

I told you this city

makes me want to fuck

‘cause I’m always inside my car

with the air conditioning off,

sweating, alone.

 

I thought you might call

when I landed,

ask about

the katydids in the east.

You don’t really want to know

about the sounds they make at night,

about how green they are

against the wood of a house in the country.

What you want is to stop missing me.

 

 

 

 

 

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