if hands were run-on sentences 

Poem by Avery Parrott

up and down and up and down
and up and down and up and
down my back and knotted into my hair
trying to figure out these buttons
and where they’re all coming from

silk and sweaty cotton contact
coming and going
patchy and distracting
and oh my god oh my god
i didn’t know you could do that

but as slow as you’d like
only if you’re sure you wanna do this now
only if you’re sure you’re sure
only if your brother isn’t home
only if your brother isn’t home

here, no here
running thru the thicket of your beard
with these fingers that usually don’t do much but struggle with the denim of your pants and softly quiver when you’re near

rouge nails up and down his back again
he’ll never be all mine
he’ll never be all mine
i can hold on for as long as i can
but he’ll never be all mine
not now, at least
not this time




Poem by Avery Parrott

another dumb thing about being 17
being seventeen feels drier than expected

less dancing queen, more broken social scene

not even a fraction of the thrill 

it was advertised to be

and everything i want 

is sitting ten months away from me 
so it’s safe to say

i do love you more than being seventeen

…i mean, i think i do

i know there’s a difference between loving someone

and just saying it because of compulsion

but i have trouble with telling the difference

every time i try to figure it out 

i’m interrupted by a smile

and an ending everyone can guess

because i look at you 

and hear words worth listening to

i look at you, and for a moment

all of these dumb feelings 

make sense somehow

and i don’t really mind seventeen 

so long as you’re here next to me


By Avery Parrott

sitting out front, watching you weed the sassafras
the afternoon drenches us in heat, as cars pass
hell’s bells never sounded so melodic
you’re standing so tall in your big boy boots
and i’m covered in pollen

tear my hair up from my head
like you’re ripping up dead grass
from the earth
take me apart
calculate my worth
i have waited for so long
break my bones oh my god
how do i find you when i’m gone?

why can’t i tell you about the wet dream i had

Poem by Avery Parrott


stop covering your ears

stop covering your ears

why do you insist that i’m innocent?

what are others guilty of that i am not?

i saw the way your face changed

when i told you about that wet dream i had


shame grows on me in branches

covered in fungus

amongst the moss and bees

and ferns and oaks, flowing free

i am the most beautiful tree in the cemetery


may all your tears dry

and may all my tears

be patched and stitched together again

these seams were stronger before i knew you


i keep biting the inside of my cheeks

and getting home way too late

this isn’t sustainable

when you call so deep into the night


i can hear your smile

do you hear mine too?