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by Marissa Isch

We’re cruise ships

with too many     chances

to lounge around

outside        the raiding   zones.


The sole   purpose of

delicious things     is to save us—

I smoke       a cigarette

you make popcorn.

Soapberry scents cling      to my skin

we’re nowhere      near the tropics.


Seal our laughs in       mason jars

kiss until   

we find ourselves     naked.

The sheets

a sea    we sink in

then everything      exists.    Even     

our shadows,

even   reflections,

even   speech

and mascara smears.


French is a    beautiful

yet     terrifying language.

 Learning it

wouldn’t change     anything

except     we could speak

of our own     ecstasies

and become    things

that are larger

than    ourselves.

About the Author

Marissa Isch is a mother, teacher, and writer from Denver Colorado. She graduated from Pratt Institute in 2008 and between 2008-2011, she published dozens of poems & short stories in literary journals, and wrote & directed three one-act philosophical comedies for Off-Broadway. Then her “mother” and “teacher” roles took over “writer” for nearly a decade and since then, she has published short stories in The Dillydoun Review, Twenty Bellows, a poem in Dreamstone Summer Anthology. Forthcoming in Millennial Pulp, The Story Behind the Poem, and her own poem collection “My Muse Is A Night Owl" (Bookleaf Publishing). She was awarded an Author Fellowship from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative writing, 2021. Marissa is currently staying up late, lesson planning, providing hugs when her children wake up, and finding time to focus on her writing.

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