Author: Nicole Steinberg

An offhand remark you make reminds me
Of the IV plunging into the back of my hand

This thing I needed to birth the idea of you
This thing that left me black and blue for weeks

Yes, it was worth it — Yes, it hurt a lot
Nothing much plonking between my brain cogs

Aside from the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing of it all
At the time I didn’t know if it was worth it

I didn’t know if there would ever be a time
When I didn’t want to commit seppuku

To scoop you and your brethren out of my guts
And your mama, so kind as I bawled in her car

Squinting past the agony to reassure me
It’d be over soon—she, too, could never imagine

(You)

I was foolish, wearing jewelry
That was sentimental

In a city of wind tunnels
Thinking I had plenty of time

To get to the hospital
That my late twenties—and late thirties—

Wouldn’t be a series of small ego deaths
That I could make it to the subway

After staying up all night with the baby
Watching both Miss Congenialty movies

Without stumbling over my own feet
Bashing my knee—which still hurts

Even now as I fold onto the tufted rug
To give you one last kiss goodnight

These early years a nonstop lesson
In life’s most valuable baubles:

Thieved slipper, stained scrunchie
The last fresh lemon cradled between

Itty-bitty goblin hands, eyes agleam
At the very top of the stairs

In my own nightstand drawer, a bowl
of puerile trinkets: shells, crystals, stones

Harvested from a distant Grecian sea
So smooth in my palm they made me cry

Life has a strange way of unfolding right?
HP texts while I shop for yogurt and bread

Hours before evening’s gentle ritual
Of disassembling a tired magpie’s shiny nest

L says I could never be inducted
Into a cult because I’m too much

Of a troll—the kind of person
Who wears black at the beach

Who the fuck even has the time
When every day something must be done

With a package of chicken breasts
And a shitload of cognitive dissonance

Whoever could surrender
To their surroundings

When every haunted house
Demands a final girl? Too busy

Talking shit to sign the waiver
Too ossified to unfurl a limb

A karaoke pick often depends
On how the date is going

Choose your fighter: “Bizarre
Love Triangle” or “Shoop”

“Gimme More” or “Criminal”
Not enough Coors Light in the world

To drown the counterproductive doctrines
Adopted by inexplicably lonely girls

But friends, the rumors are true:
Confidence can be relearned

When you excise men to the point
They’re novel & invest in singing lessons

From a maestro in a magenta car seat
One unhinged note at a time

Why didn’t you follow me into the streets of Bushwick?
Imagine a world where the cab didn’t pause to pick me up

I count each of my love’s perimenopausal baby hairs
Undo the zipper emblazoned across my daughter’s heart

It’s a habit, a panic, a brilliant twig that keeps us together
Nothing more tender than the single tie-dyed sock

She discards everyday on the staircase
The sound of pages turning under the covers

A novel in verse that made me cry—
The Yarra River, cornflakes in my pocket

The arrogance of freezing rain in June
I didn’t need love language when I had street smarts

Even rosary beads leave calluses in their wake
Now I can never stop waving goodbye

Would you love me if I were a curd
The pink slime stuffed into the casing

Would you have loved me when the hexes
Flowed like pinot noir and I could be found

Lingering in any dim restroom
Mold spore in jeans and a vest

Perfecting a debilitating sneer
Would you love the way I pay

For therapy while plotting all week
What not to tell my therapist

Would you love me if I were a fork
Pressed against your jugular

Will you love me when I finally
Run out of smart things to say

Before it’s all gone
And I’m left behind

Fat with blood
Toasting my success

-ful friends
I want to enjoy

An exhibitionist streak
Before I lose my nerve

Bloated on a crest
Of my own allure

To dole out kisses
Amongst bouncing pretties

Just outside the coatroom
Of a club I’ll never see again

I WANT THE LAST DECADE OF MY LIFE BACK
I consider screaming at the child pirouetting

Across the grassy field on her way home
Where are you going in your tutu? Nowhere

All the role models stepped on landmines and
There’s no Bluey episode about nuclear winter

So who will guide us through the cornflowers
Compare us to the hellebores, too ashamed

To show our damned faces in the sunlight
Doing the drugs only led to septum issues

Reading the room only led to gastroenteritis
From hell’s heart I Slack at thee

Delete the last dregs of braggadocio
Fucking make it all up as I go

Brooklyn seemed bigger than it was
Just like the amusement park

Fifteen minutes from my house
Where I splashed in the tide pool

While my parents took photos
At every age we’re small but

Don’t know it until we’re on a hunt
Arm in arm with a very best friend

We won’t speak to within five years
Trying to locate the party

Wherever it is, whatever it’s for
And whoever the heck is hosting

All we have absorbed is
It’s imperative that we attend

S sneaks CD jewel cases into a paper bag
Along with plastic apples and bananas

Calls it “grocery shopping”
She’s thrilled to have a job

Now stuffing them into a garbage bag
Nothing if not helpful

Did you wear your headphones
In the grocery store? my wife asks

I hate when people do that
Like it or not it’s my entire life story

Even at 43 listening to the new album
By a 29-year-old as I attempt to ferret out

The one box of organic raspberries
That won’t go moldy in two days

I used to love space and now a photo
Of Earth makes me nauseated

Shit happens for reasons I can’t explain
Like how I used to detest olives

And now I could eat them by the handful
Maybe the zodiac messed with my gut bacteria

Maybe there’s something to be said for
Instagram astrologers crashing out on the feed

Still annoyed with myself for seven days
In Greece and not a single olive

Maybe I’m entering my villain era
Or maybe it’s finally come to a close

I have yet to teach my child
If there are roses there are thorns

Do you even know what destination
Means? How about adventure?

Of course, because that’s an everyday
Occurrence—a quiet miracle every time

You leave and come home safe
In a gift shop I ask you to put down

Some whimsical trinket of ceramic
Or wicker, afraid it will break in

Your tumbling eager hands
Don’t worry mommy, you say

It’s not fragile—a word you learned
From someone with lots of experience

Watching sturdy stuff shatter:
Tech bubbles, ankle bones, appetite

I call to my wife across country club bathroom stalls
Which reminds me of summer camp

Hiding amidst pink and potpourri to avoid a plague
Known to most as competitive dodgeball

I don’t glean yet that I’m dreaming
I wish I had met you sooner

That someone could have cradled my wrist
When I could only describe myself as

Abominable in headphones
The bitterest pith in the bowl

Every arrow that skims past my child’s cheek
Is a gaping wound just beneath my clavicle

The reason I am so far behind
Is I always have been

Around two am I think to myself:
I should have read the baby books.

I used to think an oversized floral print
Would make me a better person.

Now I sip my coffee and watch my kid
Scrawl a D that resembles

A deflated bounce house.
She’s started to peel her fingernails

So neurosis must be genetic.
Inside a house of impossible people

A child is hula-hooping
Windmilling her arms for attention

Somehow born knowing everything
She does is worthy of applause.