poem
Volume 35, Number 3

the state fair

I’m getting Hello Kitty henna-ed
onto me when my phone goes off.
are you guys okay? texts my mom.
I turn to my friends, no one knows
what’s taking place just 20 minutes away,
outside of the music and games and cotton
candy that sticks to my fingers as it melts.

in a normally noiseless neighborhood
near the Neuse River greenway,
a teen pulls the trigger on his brother,
next-door neighbors, even on cops
who come to stop the scene. 5 dead,
2 injured, suspect still on the run.
enough killed to be called mass.

there is nothing I can do but keep going
on rides that spin and twist and flip
my brain around enough that I don’t
have the energy to call and text everyone
back or know what exactly is happening
as I throw up on the grass and pray whoever
is out there in the dark will be caught

before I have to leave the safety of
the security guards and metal detectors.
beneath the blood moon, I’ll quickly
open the door of my apartment and try
as best I can to scrub off the residue
of the night. to feel thankful I get
to wake up at all, even if dizzy.


—Amanda Conover