by Hana Damon-Tollenaere

In the butchershop, carving
the future, a bloody linocut
of you and me, pressing the linoleum
down on paper, lift up to see last
Tuesday, and next Tuesday,
and all the Tuesdays yet
to come, I need your help
because I’m at the corner
store buying lottery tickets,
but they all seem to have your
face on them, and I lost
the one you gave me last
Tuesday, too busy excavating linoleum
with a dull incisor, hoarding the excess
under fingernails done in cheap
ruby polish, like a betta in her
bubble nest, you will be wanted
for the things you can make, both
your hands like quick flicking
fins, you will be wanted
next Tuesday.

Hana Damon-Tollenaere lives in California with her girlfriend and their five White’s tree frogs. Her published work can be found at hanadamontollenaere.carrd.co