Cassie Burkhardt

Description I Carry In My Back Pocket In Case
My Three Kids Run Off On Me At The Zurich Airport

Too tall for whatever they’re wearing, too fast for
security, too forgetful for belongings, too backwards for
escalators, too loud to be Swiss, too tan to be German, too
bilingual to be American, too sensual not to hump a stuffed
animal at the gift shop, too naughty to pay for M&Ms, too blond
to be blamed, too curious not to chew gum under tables, too
sugared-up on stolen Splenda for Starbucks, too distracted by
golfcarts, giant lollipops, toys, TVs, comfort animals to make it
to the gate, lucky enough to find it, too expansive for seatbelts,
too coconut-scented to be furious with, too scared of the flush
sound to use the bathroom, too clumsy not to run into a man
with a cane, too impatient for WiFi, too bored for in-flight
entertainment, too wild for the exit row, too poetic not to greet
clouds, compliment a lovely flight attendant, know the word
Prosecco, too low to the ground not to dive for lost coins, too
happily barefoot for socks, too sweaty to hold hands, too excited
for emergency instructions, too busy whistling to talk, too loving
to be apart, too trusting to realize I might not be right behind
them, annoying enough to know that I am, with a food bag and
seven hundred loose items dangling from my not-enough arms,
pockets, neck, breath.

Spin The Bottle

The best game of spin-the-bottle I ever played wasn’t in eighth grade
on Katherine McGann’s trampoline when I’d pined for
years for Scott Schnipper and finally got him, but on a rainy July
weekend at to the Jersey Shore, flying solo with my three kids in
a tiny, damp motel room and I’m not sure where they got the
idea, but they grabbed an empty seltzer bottle and said, Let’s
play, the green plastic whizzed around like the ceiling fan and
my four-year-old kissed the six-year-old and the six-year-old
kissed the nine-year-old, my first born— who seems to recede
farther and farther away from me every day— jumped up to kiss
me, a meaningful peck of one Mississippi. I can still see his
smooth collarbone moving toward me beneath my eyelids, a
heated silhouette of blond hair and long limbs that any mother
could sense from across a desert or a pullout couch. I met his
kiss, my heart quickened inside my hoodie, my C-section scar
turned up at the corners, I could smell the ocean wind and
toothpaste on his face, our laundry detergent and DNA the same,
 I felt chasms of time burst into a firework and pop in the sky, the
thread of life unfurl and evaporate into pale smoke that gives
way to a backdrop of stars, a family of them and then poof, he
stood up, said, Ok I don’t want to play anymore and I nodded,
the TV went on, they all hit the couch and I picked up the
green bottle, hugged it to my body and set it on the counter next to the
microwave and they all yelled, Popcorn!

 

Villanelle To My Clothes

I donated my clothes to Goodwill and now I want them back.
Silk yellow halter with jewel appliqué, bite-sized dresses that sparkled and twirled.
Stuffed them into a metal bin, my twenties in a garbage sack.

It was time to let go! You’re moving and pregnant, don’t have a heart attack.
But I wonder who’s slipping her toes in my quilted velvet peeptoes, making a mess of the world.
I donated my clothes to Goodwill and now I want them back.

Sequined pants that table-danced, capri jumpsuit through Paris she leapt, O corset dress (lilac).
Don’t you remember they were stained and faded? She was a mess, that girl!
Stuffed them into a metal bin, my twenties in a garbage sack.

Rose-colored glasses! Live and let go! Your hormones are out of whack!
But my first leather jacket? She held me, loved me, riddled with red wine and coffee swirls.
I donated my clothes to Goodwill and now I want them back.

Maybe in two decades, Ella can wear them? Let’s go get them back…
But we’re driving away, flying tomorrow, Come on, give adulthood a whirl.
Stuffed them into a metal bin, my twenties in a garbage sack.

Goodbye sweet me in the garbage sack.
One day again unfold, unfurl.
I donated my clothes to Goodwill and (sigh) I don’t need them back.

 

Cassie Burkhardt is an emerging writer based in Philadelphia, originally from New York, NYU grad 2006. Her work has appeared in Rattle, The Good Life Review, New Ohio Review, Philadelphia Stories, Sad Girls and Cagibi, among others. She studies in Phil Schultz's Master Class at The Writers Studio.