Vanessa Batyko is a poet from Los Angeles. She holds a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Southern California, where she received the 2018 Beau J. Boudreaux Poetry Award and the Jimmy Gauntt Memorial Award. If you live in LA, she might be your next Uber driver. Her work has most recently been published in Gravel and Semantics Magazine.
Attachment’s not grown out of
but transferred to things more certain: Bible
journaling & cough drops, 3 rings
you even shower in. I know a man who sucks
his thumb at 30, says he wants to be held
the way people hold money. We watch
Elimidate & Star Search, reality TV
from before I was born. I know a woman
who yells when you stare at her tattoos too long.
I’m known for toting around a small
orange horse when all I want is to hold
mom’s big department store hand.
I wish grandpa had a Facebook
so I could stalk him like an ex, poke
him even though he’s gone. I’m tired
of naming my life’s items after people
who’ve died then tossing them in my purse
for later. I’m wearing my
moles so as not to lose them, but
if you find them, please treat them right.
Never take them home the back way,
never buy them shots of Sazerac Rye
& clutch their dizzied heads, saying,
I’m like an old piano— you can’t get rid of me.