Hot Nap
Sure, sex sells,
but have you ever
browsed the sleep
aid section of your
pharmacy? Purple
velvet masks make
somnolence sexy
again: what could
be hotter than the
weighted blanket
that must groggily
be lifted, shucked,
discarded, every
night in order for
air to reach heavily
dewed skin. It’s so
dirty to say I must
sleep well tonight,
almost taboo, with
all the content we
will surely need to
catch up on when
we wake, or living
in states that have
banned rapid eye
movement, unless
you are staring at
your phone in bed
or watching every
clock, and shadow
for a sign of alarm,
for hours at a time
like this, with the
moment of crisis
dissolving under
our tongues like
a melatonin pill.
At the Quarry
It’s been another
sticky
day at the
municipal
fruit quarries
mining
cantaloup
contentment
carving glistening
pink gold from
natural fissures
in crisp
watermelon canyons
which drip juices
that make the
sunsets
jealous; now it’s
dark
and the celestial
melonous moon
cools
us with honeydew
from on high.
Ori Fienberg is the author of Old Habits, New Markets (elsewhere press, 2021). His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in venues including the Cincinnati Review, The Dallas Review, Essay Daily, Heavy Feather Review, Obliterat, Pank, Sixth Finch, and Subtropics. Ori teaches poetry writing for Northeastern University’s College of Professional Studies. Read more at orifienberg.com and follow @ArtfulHerring for poetry and political tweets.
