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Three Poems by Grace Mathews

Boundary St.

Anyone could get
used to the sound
of the freeway.
The brake dust
that enters the
Lungs. The highway
underpass that creeps
up on home, corridor

to my heart, the beige.
The original mock-ups
by the Los Angeles
Urban Planning
Committee promised the
110 as a lush
greenspace complete
with native foliage.

The getting there, the lies.
The standstills.
The whir of endless
construction enters your
subconscious after
five days. I believe
it alters your circadian
rhythms. The life of

parks, cement,
domestic animals.
“Walking distance”
expands its radius.
There’s being alone
or being a little
too alone. Wherever
you are.

  

    

Misalignment

After the third time they make you tour the morgue to see where you’ll wind up / as if we all wind up where we deserve / as if everyone circles the child lock with intention / after the third ending we decide to imagine who you may have become / you being too many / you / being too many / the crew finds needles inside the hull of a small boat / an indication of irregular tides / more patients enter the hospital on the full moon / my friend drives an ambulance / says he runs into regulars / on days off / you search fear in the database / top rankings involve / women / anxiety / we explain to the TSA agent that the white powder in our luggage is cremains / that the cross–country shipping fee was too costly / even on flat rate / our dead travel with us.

 

   

  

Portrait of a Woman by Google

F, 23
In a relationship
Average or lower income
Industry: not enough info
Renter.
[1]  

Considers  selling  her  eggs.  Might  have  endometriosis. Has  not  confirmed  identity.  Worries.  Can afford  premium  face  cream  with  financing.  Cashed  in on  Tampax®  class  action.  Wasn’t  the  one  doing  the  suing.  Ate  a  recalled  onion.  Relatively  flat  chested.  Looked  into  insurance  coverage  for  nose  job.  Rejected.  Incognito  window  implies  shame.  Searching  for  dental  floss  that  doesn’t  clog  landfills.  Does  not  have  rare  brain  tumor–still  reads  the  article.  Will  purchase  normal  dental  floss  if  marketed  as  women’s  shapewear.  Higher  than  average  scroll  speed.  Low  on  storage.  Tries  to  limit  the  scope,  in  too  deep.  Thought  of  shooting  a  gun  once  but  got  scared.  Most  likely  to  press  buttons  between  10:00pm  to  1:00am.  More  likely  to  pull  trigger  after  daylight  savings.  Requires  simpler  language. [2]  Doesn’t  like  being  watched.  Wants to know what love has got to do with ads.[3]

 

 

 

[1] https://myadcenter.google.com/controls?ref=my-account&ref-media=WEB&hl=en
[2] https://www.facebook.com/privacy/policy/?entry_point=data_policy_redirect&entry=0
[3] https://myadcenter.google.com/controls/categories/relationships

     

    

   

Grace MathewsGrace Mathews is a poet and educator from Los Angeles, California. She is currently receiving an MFA from San Diego State University, where she teaches writing and works for Poetry International. Her poems have been published in The Los Angeles Review and Zone 3, among others.

Header photo by blvdone, courtesy Shutterstock.

 

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