In August
by Karissa Chouinard Carmona
In August
nothing dies
without
a struggle.
Even sunsets leave a bruise.
My neighbors fight—past midnight,
like most nights lately—
voices muffled in low-hanging smoke:
Why don’t
you fuck
her then? I want
you.
You.
You need
to go. Go now.
Just—
On my drive to work I see three does
on the roadside, one dead,
belly-bloat
rising
like a new life in the heat.
The others eat at the foot of a crab-apple and
froth at the bitter and the chalk and the sweet.
Karissa Chouinard Carmona writes from the Bitterroot Valley. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Lily Poetry Review, Los Angeles Review, and CutBank. When she's not writing (or thinking about how she really oughtta be writing), Karissa works as a community organizer against domestic and sexual violence.