Amanda Pendley


I leave myself to tumble dry in basement dryer eleven
where I will swirl lucky and dumb in loose sleeves
as body curls into letter c before it turns to u
and then o and I want to exist in infinitum and not exist at all
and I want to wash my name off dirty bathroom stall with soap
suds and give my circulatory system a power wash until
all decay is scraped from inside and I feel ready to complete
cycle and dwell in warm puddle and forget what it means to get clean
the very minute I am carried outside by open arms.
We are not getting warmer,
Not closer, not yet

from the other side of the fishbowl

eyes bulge as i tell you
on tuesday that i still love you
the same as i used to

even if i don’t know what that means
it is still blue and bubbling
over the surface

i have bought extra storage containers
buckets of water sit underneath
my bed frame and

i remember when we used to think our
house would get blown away
in a twister

because the Wizard of Oz was
the first thing we recognized as ours-
saw home float upwards and saw our outlines in it

i can hear the current sloshing as i tilt my head
rushing across tile and soaking wood panels
acting as aquarium for the still breathing

pouring out the open windows as
watering can to strangled flowers
rooted too deeply to budge

how we would wish ourselves away
straining to stay within ourselves
stapled to the ground

market street

we bought our apartment based on the window light
chose the most cinematic, alluringly glorious wash of color
so that we can bathe ourselves in kitchen sun come morning

hold up colored cellophane to make stained glass surfaces
rotate them often because each month has a specific color
and if we disagree I will take the left side and you the right

flip pancakes in pink amber syrup
make my hair a little more auburn
fill walls with plain neon posters

and on Sundays we will take them all down and lay them out
like yoga mats and peel the face masks from the glass panes
shower in pale yellow golden shadow

lie down with hair sprawled out on wood panels
we will have a hard time opening our eyes
our bodies will be water absorbing the light

Amanda Pendley is a twenty-year-old writer from Kansas City who is currently studying Creative Writing and Publishing at the University of Iowa. Her recent and forthcoming publications include Vagabond City Lit, Savant Garde Literary Magazine, Storm of Blue Press, and Ghost City Review. She often finds inspiration in Lorde songs, movement, and the wonders of midwestern peculiarities. You can find her on social media under the username amandacpendley.

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