by Sage Curtis
I fall in love six times on the train with all y’all
I type out a message on the group chat to all y'all.
As I love everyone in this room,
as in, burst. All this fucking love, y'all.
I stayed out last night until 2 a.m.
I'm damn tired, but man, I love dancing with all y'all.
I roll the word around in my mouth,
let the y flip off my tongue, hold the ls in my throat, drawl all y'all.
When my mother taught me ABCs, ws were dub-ya
I stood out in California classes with all y'all.
My mother. Her mother. This is their love language:
What are all y'all drinking?
I wonder sometimes if the word is mismatched
in my mouth. What I'm saying is, I worry a lot y'all.
I say, Sage, those words are your roots.
They pulse and plant and gnarl through all, y'all.
Sage Curtis is a Bay Area writer fascinated by the way cities grit and women move. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Juked, Vinyl, Glass Poetry, Main Street Rag, burntdistrict, Yes Poetry, and more. She has also been a finalist for the Rita Dove Award and the Gigantic Sequins Award in Poetry, as well as an Honorable Mention for the Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry Series. Her chapbook, Trashcan Funeral, is published with dancing girl press.