Quick

by Rhiannon McGavin

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Lime like the mineral 
believed to dissolve bodies down
to the secret bones,
and lime like the tree
on that corner with its seed pearl flowers
that cut through the city dust
each night with a promise. 

Somewhere between these two things
I walk to your apartment.

In the morning
I tear open your gray curtains
so the dawn surges against me
in nothing but your stain by the window.
When you sit up
squinting in the light, 
I can pretend you’re overcome, 
looking at me, all your love spilling.

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Rhiannon McGavin has failed the driver’s license test three times so far. Her work has been published by The Believer, Teen Vogue, and more. She is the former Youth Poet Laureate of Los Angeles. Her books Branches and Grocery List Poems are both available from Not A Cult. As a 2023 Mitchell Scholar, she will be studying at Trinity College next year.