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RT @metatronpress: ๐•Š๐•’๐•ช ๐•™๐•–๐•๐•๐•  ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•—๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•’๐• ๐•ฃ๐•–๐•๐•–๐•’๐•ค๐•– ๐• ๐•— ๐Ÿš๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿš๐Ÿ˜... ๐•น๐–” ๐•ป๐–—๐–”๐–‡๐–‘๐–Š๐–’๐–†๐–™๐–Ž๐–ˆ๐–˜ ๐–‡๐–ž ๐–๐–Ž๐–”๐–‘๐–† ๐•ฎ๐–๐–Š๐–“ ๐”ธ๐•ง๐•’๐•š๐•๐•’๐•“๐•๐•– ๐•—๐• ๐•ฃ โ„™๐•ฃ๐•–-๐•†๐•ฃ๐••๐•–๐•ฃ ๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•จ! https://t.co/4Dwโ€ฆ
h J R
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๐•Š๐•’๐•ช ๐•™๐•–๐•๐•๐•  ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•—๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•’๐• ๐•ฃ๐•–๐•๐•–๐•’๐•ค๐•– ๐• ๐•— ๐Ÿš๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿš๐Ÿ˜... ๐•น๐–” ๐•ป๐–—๐–”๐–‡๐–‘๐–Š๐–’๐–†๐–™๐–Ž๐–ˆ๐–˜ ๐–‡๐–ž ๐–๐–Ž๐–”๐–‘๐–† ๐•ฎ๐–๐–Š๐–“ ๐”ธ๐•ง๐•’๐•š๐•๐•’๐•“๐•๐•– ๐•—๐• ๐•ฃ โ„™๐•ฃ๐•–-๐•†๐•ฃ๐••๐•–๐•ฃ ๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•จ!โ€ฆ https://t.co/dmmgcTtQgA
h J R
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- 1 day ago

RT @theonlyelitareq: code red? more like code bed, am i right?
h J R
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- 1 day ago

RT @metatronpress: Look who arrived! THE NERVES is here in all sorts of delicious, inside and out ๐Ÿ’šโค๏ธ๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’™ https://t.co/yb5nFJeMYk https://t.cโ€ฆ
h J R
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- 1 day ago

Hereโ€™s the link to watch the lovely, safe and distanced live launch of KNOT BODY by @theonlyelitareq ๐Ÿ˜ featuringโ€ฆ https://t.co/BfLZb1UWdF
h J R
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OMEGA | Elena Robidoux
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Elena Robidoux

12 Jun Elena Robidoux

WE MADE CHOPSTICK WALRUSES

 

 

at the Chinese restaurant, with the chalky mints,
and the tank of oversized koi. And something in the air of fairies.
Maybe it was the pollen, which churned the wind like a snow globe,
debris the colour of curry. Donโ€™t you miss those days,
the clouds of marsh flies, our arms dotted in bites?
We were, relatively speaking, shitheads
still getting carted around
in your granddadโ€™s silver Volvo;
manual windows and itchy wool seat covers
that smelled like pine. Got stoned,
in the gut of your rhododendron, then
walked through boneyards like zombies.
Yep, we killed all your neighbourโ€™s succulents
and still got paid. Indifference was a fashion statement.
Once we made out in a field, overrun with weeds.
I frowned afterwards (queer), then spit on an anthill.
Your recovery required vanilla bean ice cream with frozen berries โ€“
a victory on my jade chess set from Pakistan,
the one with the cracked rook
weโ€™d always substitute for a nickel. So resourceful.
There was the summer, we lived in Providence.
Remember, we had jobs?
You greeted hookers at a Marriott in Woburn.
I sold overpriced croissants.
My specialty was assigning facts to calories;
a financier resembles a bar of goldโ€ฆI forgot the rest
They fired me after a month because I โ€œlooked too frazzledโ€
I stole five macaroons for us, before leaving,
kept the ugly gingham shirt. Our apartment was dirt cheap;
bachata bled from the lowriders outside,
the upstairs tenantโ€™s name was โ€œBuddha.”
He definitely thought we were fucking.
I would always come back to you cleaning, organising.
You put empty soup and vegetable cans in the dishwasher
and I found that so OCD.
Hey, I was wondering, are you doing alright?
The last time we saw each other,
you had lost both front teeth in a bar fight.
Youโ€™d sometimes put an unlit cigarette
in the raw, stitched-up hole.
The resulting lisp left me smiling, so hick.
But later you self-admitted to local rehab and
I wasnโ€™t allowed to visit. When I asked how it was
you told me you just coloured
and listened to a playlist of indie music
that an earthy lesbian
compiled for you on a sticky note.
Sometimes, when I worry,
I picture that sherbet sunset
we saw right before I left.
The river was frozen, and the trees
looked like running ink,
silhouetting against the water.
Memory is a wobbly plinth.
I live in the past to be okay.

ย 

 


 

Elena Robidoux is a writer of prose poetry and creative nonfiction from Boston. Her work has been featured in The Missing Slate, Fog Machine, Wu-Wei Fashion Mag, Potluck Magazine, theEEEL, Little River,ย and Jerkpoet, among others. Her chapbook, Tragic Kingdom is forthcoming. She lives and writes in Bogotรก, Colombia.

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