By JC Andrews

Featured Art: Pulse 1.2 by Rachel Ann Hall

The octobered sky. The overarching
evolution of your abdomen. The salutatious
relove we do once we’ve forgiven our
mommas. Let’s go arachnid and eat
our mommas or   ok   we can just
wrap each other in silk. O yes   I am
an aprilfaced king. O yes   I am
a uterus genius. O yes   I bleed
while I walk down Seventh.
O yes & yes & yes
I have made such
a snow of your hands,
an astronomy of your syntax,
an ambulance of your eyes,
and I’ve decided that I
have no issue with meeting
your mother next Tuesday. Wait.
I can wear a green coat like Chalamet
in Little Women or a red tie like
a coach. I should practice my little voice
in my little mirror hi my name is how are you
impressive charming not at all   o yes  afraid

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JC Andrews is a poet from Springfield, Arkansas with an interest in poems that work as an “un-ing,” poems that hold questions as a form of caretaking. She is the author of the chapbook Sweetwork and currently serves as the Associate Poetry Editor of Indiana Review.