1. You can only live as fast as the water around you,
he tells me with five knuckles sad around his stout.
He says this and I refuse to doubt him, convinced already
that the pupil-colored river, barely breathing out the window,
is responsible for his glacial speed and the lack of endings
to his stories. He tells me he is colorblind, "for an Irishman"
he adds, which means he can't see any shade but the color green–
and everything, he laughs, looks to be clover-colored to him everything seems green enough to grow.
2. Sometimes I kill a houseplant on purpose out of spite
I let it sit on my table ignoring it for days
and just as the leaves begin to curl in
on themselves just as they begin
to parch, begin to husk and petrify
I sit next to them with a pitcher full of water
I drink glass after glass after glass.
3. My grandmother keeps her Holy Water by the stove, on the dresser, by the soap dish, mixed into the spray bottle she uses to reprimand the cat.
It is the final ingredient to every meal she cooks.
She dabs it behind her ears.
4. There could be, in my mind, a breed of superstitious people who insist on having plastic surgery of the palms in order to make their life line longer. These people do not shake hands, and they never do the dishes, afraid the water might wrinkle their childhood.
45 The Paris-American
Meghann Plunkett is a New York City based writer and performer. Her work has been published in national and international literary magazines including Simon & Schuster’s new anthology, Chours.She is a co-founder, producer and performer for the show KissPunchPoem: an official selection at the Chicago Improv Festival, the New York City Poetry Festival, the Hawaii Improv Festival and the Boston Comedy Arts Festival.The show has also been featured at The Encyclopedia Show and The Green Mill in Chicago. She invites you to The Magnet Theater in New York City, every Saturday at 9pm.
