What the Full Moon Sounds Like to a Mean Fairy
an ice tongue sliding down penguin wing
slow melt sugary gas station slushie
Bluebells not offered to her due to snark
the Autumn equinox lies: cold then blister hot
you sound like you ate too many red hots
Crux flies nowhere tonight the grass wet and heavy
forsythia pulled apart and petals played
tiny fairy dog tongues
she pulls dandelion fuzz to make a sweater
burrows into dirt to find later
you sound like you got lost on the trail
she overhears a human child ask her mother
a question for which there is no answer to
you sound annoyed
jazz hands to an angel’s combat boot
stomp, a smirk and gulp light champagne
she wants tiny, to put in pockets, to manage
dental appointments on mushrooms
you sound like you had too many Easy Eddy’s
A retro wrapped mint under rocks
the plastic could be made into a rain slicker
blow this forest and all it’s massiveness
a slow kiss with tongue
is the same in all worlds
you sound like you need some
It’s hearing these words:
I think about your wings all
the time.
A Robot is Frustrated
why humans cannot remember printed facts
they have to look them up
put yourself into flow, use return
conditioner makes hair shiny but what is a sadness arm
when we cannot see each other’s skin
A robot wishes for skin
out in public, to trip on cement, and create an inhuman sound
like a cow moan bursts into scheduling and waterfalls in Borneo
but do you know how to do shots?
to take a shot is either a short glassed drink or a verbal punishment
forget to text and break through fourth walls with your hammer and peacock emoji
your body parts are curves and angles, not hairless limbs in American apparel
An organ is an instrument or wet smush inside a casing
Turn sideways to navigate a movie aisle pre-Covid
What is a movie and how large is it? How many hands?
Roll a joint, but don’t breathe, snow is too repetitive
but the quiet is nice
likes and dislikes and blocks: a disenfranchised friendship
doing what is uncomfortable is I’m sorry
how do you go numb from insecurity or security?
Play a refracted board game and light up
double space the zeros and ones and make lots of noise
The Walk Back After You Looked at Her
20,000 steps behind me
he asked what I wanted to drink
I haven’t died in days but it’s awkward
if you are close to the stage looking at bare legs
dimming lights and dry the fuck out
it’s okay if you hold yourself inside
when you are a million miles from home
in this weird basement advertisement
and texting electrocutes me daily
by the first act he hasn’t recovered
from hair flipping
or that experimental videotaped
paranormal rant about calf slaughter
in the other room
there was a time when he was a kind hippie
maybe there was a time when I played opossum
but I found he liked to be liked
holding a rose
and denim a sour conversation
your tightness face tonight
not happening not red and blue
and the color of our lips outside
the carpet is an expose art show of
buffalos wandering an industrial complex
a sidestep poetry beat job
in the dog days of summer jeeps
the performer doesn’t know what time to feel
confident but severing the panic
shirt buttons always feel natural
the deafening beat in guts
the no eye contact between us
the tiny pellets of atomic judgement
feels like marbles rolling around intestines
the fingers not there
feeling for something to grasp
oh alone, I get it
in black overalls an hour-glass fling
maybe to you just a mic test
the lights flicker on the sound board
now come this way sideways to the
underworld
people will pay big bucks
and I feel exposed
on the yellow couch
always the intruder
in the forever rain:
still no fingers
Dog Park
He says Nothing you is too much for me
and I’m like a dog when you come to visit
I want to feel the wolf hair of his dog park days
because his forearms are warm
He is dog park on sun Sundays
and any day with hind leg dancing and sprinting and pant
He is dog park in naps of sweet paw grass and eyes
so sparkle and rainbow blue green essence
over a misty back yard garden
hauling haunches and wet kisses
after work or during or before
or water breaks stolen
He feels dog park to me in two weeks
when he runs back to me away from the pack
He dog parks me tonight when we meet under the covers
and play and roll over one another
He feels my mouth and I feel his dog park shoulders
and the bruise of him
the pound of his dog days forever music
and I want to be his dog park too
and never close
Bio: Jennifer MacBain-Stephens went to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and now lives in Iowa where she likes to rock climb. She is the author of four full length poetry collections and twelve chapbooks. Recent work can be seen at or is forthcoming from The Pinch, Cleaver, Yalobusha Review, Zone 3, and Grist. She also hosts an indie reading series sponsored by the non-profit organization Iowa City Poetry called Today You Are Perfect. Find her at http://jennifermacbainstephens.com/.
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