Two Poems by Amy Carlberg, of which the first is called Committed.

apologies to elizabeth gilbert.

marriage and pink wigs.
marriage and lost in translation.
marriage and the aloe vera plant slowly dies on the night stand.
marriage and half-eaten strawberries.
marriage and handfuls of cherries.
marriage and not being able to live without avocados.
marriage and being able to survive on ramen.
marriage and duck confit.
marriage and blurred lines.
marriage and reading the menu.
marriage and screaming at the TV.
marriage and look up.
marriage and look way, way up.
marriage and you enter the forest.
marriage and cheat codes.
marriage and screen names.
marriage and discounts on high-quality electronics.
marriage and soft cheeses.
marriage and raw fish.
marriage and blue balls.
marriage and periods.
marriage and the sunset filtered through the trees in the forest.
marriage and stress.
marriage and you play with me.
marriage and you play with fire.
marriage and a coursing river.
marriage and you are only near the edge of the forest.
marriage and you go deeper and you will never know exactly how deep.
marriage and you are getting sleepy, very sleepy.
marriage and that's not a real word.
marriage and i know you are, but what am i?
marriage and i'm rubber.
marriage and you're glue.
marriage and sexting.
marriage and rug burns.
marriage and burning rubber.
marriage and rubbing one out.
marriage and a baby in a baby carriage.
marriage and you happen upon a cave.
marriage and the deep hurt sleeps there.
marriage and a lantern.
marriage and flint.
marriage and a match.
marriage and the breath of the monster on the back of your neck.
marriage and the wild animal.
marriage and drug use with your partner can be a romantic activity.
marriage and a hand in the dark.
marriage and a soft whisper.
marriage and the flint is struck.
marriage and just as your lantern extinguishes.
marriage and i will lead you out of here.
marriage and my darling.
marriage and my dear.

The Men.
they all run away from us.
they all can't stay with us.

we all become spare
like couplets.

you want to see all of us?
you want to see all of us?

you want our hearts beating
in the centre of our chests,

right above the dip
and push, the globes

you can't seem to ignore?
we shall occupy bar stools

until kingdom come. until
The Time The Lights Dim.

until record-breaking numbers of men
and women start to get along.

until record-breaking numbers of people
are recognized as people.

until my heart and my tits
are freed. until i am

not fined. until i am fine.
i am fine. i am fine.

i am a lazy answer
to the one bad question there is,

and that's whether or not
we exist. that's poetry

in motion for you.
that's the colloquial creeping in.

that's the cat in the baby's
crib. that's the pigeon

in the carriage. that'll
tear your left eye out.

heart, you have so many
vowels in you. tit, you have

so little milk. i'll not fill you
with too much that's nourishing.

i'll not fill you with cum and its
vitamin c. i'll not swallow

to keep any of my vital organs
alive. here, take my

donor card. call me next tuesday.
you can bitch about the sabbath

days and i'll fill up a cart with pathological
desire for you. i'll trim my nights

like pubic hair waiting
for you to come around.

i'll drink soda and blast music,
keep the empty cans and bottles

right in bed with me. i've learned
how to sleep with the laptop,

how not to disturb it or the chargers
like lovers. i wake intermittently

and see it still resting
on the pillow next to me.

i almost crack a smile.
i almost hear a yawn,

a mutter,
a smacking of the lips.

Amy Carlberg is current Sarah Lawrence College MFA student from Toronto. She's pretty tall and a little mean but she makes a good friend sometimes. Her favorite drink is a Bloody Caesar. You'll most likely find her purchasing a Big Gulp and jerky at a 7-Eleven in Yonkers, NY. Amy also encourages you to check out her work in Issue One of Baldhip Magazine, run by her lovely Canadian gal pals. She's also gal pals with some musicians that she plays music with sometimes, like Toronto-based Mazola. She's currently the blog editor for Lumina Journal, whose fourteenth issue will arrive in the Spring of 2015.