by Katelyn Roth

Maybe you wrote a poem, but I couldn’t
work a pen on that bench we shared, our sides just
breathing against each other, tips of sleeves meeting
and quivering back into place unwillingly.
This was a hard bench, and you were solid next to me,
all rigid angles encasing a whirr and a buzz.

Maybe you wrote a poem; I wanted to see something
in the painting on the wall, but the strong blue square
was you, down to the sloping edges, and the bright green
streak across the middle of the piece was all nerves
and laughter and there was a pink sheen to the thing
so it glowed and hummed right off the wall.

Maybe you wrote a poem, but this was a poem,
and you are the poem and who could write
a poem with that glowing pink sheen
in her head?


Katelyn Roth
graduated from Pittsburg State University with degrees in Creative Writing and Psychology. She has been previously published in the campus literary magazine Cow Creek Review. Currently, she resides in Pittsburg, Kansas, with her husband and dog, working at an insurance office while on hiatus from her Masters in Creative Writing.