poetry by jessica powers

Ghost Hoops

Your earrings fall to my feet,
as I look for something 
to sleep in. Your room too empty
for me to bear. Golden hoops at my feet—

My hand reaching toward—is this your way 
of saying it’s okay? I look to see 
the spot you last laid. What if 
I slept there? But no. 

I pierce my ears 
Once more for you
Once more for you
I piece my ears

But no
What if I slept there, the spot
you last laid. I look to see it’s okay
Is this your way of saying

My hand reaching toward
Golden hoops at my feet, for me 
to bare. Your room too empty to sleep in.
As I look for something, your earrings
Fall to my feet.

tonight i cried

while making gnocchi for my lover 
thinking of my grandmother
and how she taught me 
to make the perfect potato pillows 
and her mother before her 
and mothers and grandmothers that 
go on forever and how they are 
always going to lose each other someday 
how i did not boil the potatoes long enough 
and how that simple mistake ruined everything 
and i know it is only dinner 
but it is also my grandmother 
and my wish for her 
my need for her guiding hand 
showing me how to cut 
each simple dumpling into a perfect shape
and now i am crying in front of someone 
who doesn’t understand and he knows it 
and i feel bad but can’t stop

Jessica Powers is a poet and writer living in Chicago. Her work has appeared in Goat's Milk Magazine, Hair Trigger, and Ransack Press. She is currently writing in her phone notes and watching too much TV from the 90s and early 2000s.