wildscape. literary journal

i like it when the city tightens its grip on you
by finch greene

when our homes look alike for a season
when the room pushes us closer together
and we fall into our places
like two good-natured dolls

i catch our breath in a jar
call us two panting fireflies
i call to a magic i haven’t spoken to
in decades and i come back to a glow

i believe again
in all this wanting without touching,
all this red light burning through my skin

i pick the locks to old love songs
i swallow wide oceans until i am sunk

i dream us on opposite sides
of an underwater street:
you, holding hands with your son—
it is never not your son—
and i, alone

alone and thinking of a blue deeper than blue
thinking of every sacred place
i’ve held your voice in my hands

a scavenger hunt
leading everywhere i’ve misplaced
my gasping,
tender,
reaching heart—

a piece of me forgotten
on purpose at your feet
i don’t think i’ll ever want
to take it
home

about the author // finch greene

finch greene (they/she) is a pushcart-nominated poet from the new york city area. they are a cat mom, a virgo, and very, very tired. their work has been featured in BULLSHIT lit, last leaves, and scavengers. you can probably find them reading smutty fanfic or painting their nails.