The cocktail party was a hit
I had three martinis, the olive’s open eye
Winking at me. You had bourbon on the rocks,
at least five glasses.
I wore long silver gloves up to my elbows,
you took your suit off the hanger, smoothed
It at the shoulders and draped it over your
You were in the process of
surrendering, in your eyes I saw sailors
Walking away, oars paddled toward shore.
I bit down on crumpled appetizers,
Bacon scallops, flesh bitten sushi.
The other girls wore evening gowns, I wore
A rose petal.
This is how we pretend we’re alright,
You come by every half hour,
brush against my earlobe, pretend to whisper something
romantic, instead you ask me:
what the fuck I’m wearing.
I smile, bite my olive, tell you to learn how
to use a fucking iron. You grab another drink.
Your sixth? Seventh? I’ve lost count. I twist
a stem of a cherry around my tongue like a
Piece of licorice. You’ve lost your flavor.
The dancing begins, insects burrowing into
wood, clicking to a beat, You are nowhere to
be found. My fat features reflect off of mirrors
There are two dozen of me, none of you.
Sarah Grodzinski lives in Pennsylvania and has an MFA in Creative Writing from Chatham University. She is currently an adjunct instructor in writing at Lebanon Valley College. When she is not writing she enjoys playing tennis and going to concerts.