We moved in February, left all the cars parked along on E 11th street, lumps under Manhattan snow. Rented a McMansion in the ‘burbs, filling the carpeted bedrooms up with unauthorized subletting roommates. Jake joined a band, which played covers of John Mayer songs and Wagon Wheel at bars in Austin and Shreveport. Jake, who played cello and didn’t love me anymore. None of us had jobs. I volunteered in the back office of the humane society where I was chastised for investigating petty cash thievery of another volunteer. I adopted a fluffy white puppy. I didn’t write a screenplay. By June it was too hot to walk barefoot on pavement. I tried to be good. I tried so hard to make it work. Before Texas, I didn’t know dogs could scream.
Catherine Weiss is a poet and artist living in Western Massachusetts. Their poetry has been published in BOMB, Sixth Finch, Tinderbox, DIAGRAM, Up the Staircase, Fugue, and Taco Bell Quarterly. Catherine is the author of three poetry collections, most recently Big Money Porno Mommy, from Game Over Books in 2025. More at catherineweiss.com.
Recent Posts
- Two Boys
Pam Avoledo - Blink and you’ll miss it
Michael Pershan - A Poem from the Perspective of the Carolina Wren Who Just Left My Window, and Had Been Making Alarm Calls Directly at Me for like Five Straight Minutes While I Lay Down on The Floor
Jonathan Freeman - Ways To Go
Matthew Vollmer - Eldest Daughter Seeks Someone To Lie To her Mother.
Shweta Katiyar - Love Is Blind S9E10
FM Stringer
