This is Connection
at your dad’s repair shop we
sit out back dusk till
dawn, on dirty white lawn chairs -
yours has a broken arm
cigarette butts, roaches and
crushed Bud Lite cans call
us names, but we
only hear each other and
ourselves
we are too new to
judge, too new to care,
we let our stories air
blank slate, blank eyes -
the town gets quiet and
we grow bold,
this is it
this is connection
this is the night I know I
love you and you need me
I say we tessellate and I
think: this is the best
I will ever have
the weeks and the songs play
on, summer burns at the edges -
we have become each other
and ourselves
glass shards and threats and
vulnerability and closeness
honey and fuck you and bitch and
kisses and I can’t do this and
I can and I do,
crashing bruising fear and love
love and fear and need
you shake and sweat and your
eyes hurt from being open too long
too alive, it hurts to be alive
like this
I am drunk and you are high
again -
you say, I don’t want
this to end
and I hold you, snuff out your
tremors until I tremble too
again -
you say, I want more of you,
but I want more
I leave you asleep, sitting
against your
cowboy wallpaper and I know
I won’t stop, my
feet wet from fat dew on
patchy grass,
I leave and leave again
three states away, trees with spiky
edges and loud birds laughing
at me, a studio with
an ironing board and cable
included and an entry level position
later, a stucco condo, pets
allowed and a 401k match
you marry and have two plump
tow haired babies with
blue eyes, gummy smiles wide and
raise them on the street where
you were born, the street where
we ignored sunsets and sunrises and
you work at your dad’s repair shop
and me, in another universe -
alone with my
friends and our community pools
and our martinis and our
deadlines and our
search for more
at your dad’s repair shop we
sit out back dusk till
dawn, on dirty white lawn chairs -
yours has a broken arm
cigarette butts, roaches and
crushed Bud Lite cans call
us names, but we
only hear each other and
ourselves
we are too new to
judge, too new to care,
we let our stories air
blank slate, blank eyes -
the town gets quiet and
we grow bold,
this is it
this is connection
this is the night I know I
love you and you need me
I say we tessellate and I
think: this is the best
I will ever have
the weeks and the songs play
on, summer burns at the edges -
we have become each other
and ourselves
glass shards and threats and
vulnerability and closeness
honey and fuck you and bitch and
kisses and I can’t do this and
I can and I do,
crashing bruising fear and love
love and fear and need
you shake and sweat and your
eyes hurt from being open too long
too alive, it hurts to be alive
like this
I am drunk and you are high
again -
you say, I don’t want
this to end
and I hold you, snuff out your
tremors until I tremble too
again -
you say, I want more of you,
but I want more
I leave you asleep, sitting
against your
cowboy wallpaper and I know
I won’t stop, my
feet wet from fat dew on
patchy grass,
I leave and leave again
three states away, trees with spiky
edges and loud birds laughing
at me, a studio with
an ironing board and cable
included and an entry level position
later, a stucco condo, pets
allowed and a 401k match
you marry and have two plump
tow haired babies with
blue eyes, gummy smiles wide and
raise them on the street where
you were born, the street where
we ignored sunsets and sunrises and
you work at your dad’s repair shop
and me, in another universe -
alone with my
friends and our community pools
and our martinis and our
deadlines and our
search for more
Originally from England, Jo Varnish now lives outside New York City. She is the assistant editor at X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine. Her short stories and creative nonfiction have recently appeared, or are forthcoming, in Okay Donkey, Ellipsis Zine, Pithead Chapel, The Coachella Review, JMWW Journal, and others. Jo is a 2021 Pushcart Prize nominee, has been a writer in residence at L'Atelier Writers for two years, and is studying for her MFA. She can be found on twitter @jovarnish1.