Parched
When I woke up this morning I was thirsty for water
so I went into the kitchen and made a coffee.
Then I reclined on the couch, warming my ovaries
with my laptop and whistling at my dog to come here
and be one with the upholstery and me. (He
pretended not to hear, but his periscope ear
swiveled). I opened up tabs on the internet and
closed them. Open and close, open and close,
a colony of pulsing coral. My daughter woke
up with a thirsting cry and the dog’s ear turned
almost all the way around, following me
as I walked on stiff ankles to her room.
Samantha Schnell is a writer and teacher living in New York City. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Witness Magazine, The Argyle Literary Magazine, Atlanta Review, and elsewhere.