I’m having recurring nightmares about the submarine imploding | Amanda Pszczolkowski

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1 min read

not the Titan, but my home built without a bomb shelter,
and built to house bombs. Explosions—unlike implosions—
happen over the course of felt moments. Skirts are blown upward
as Trinitrotoluene flushes cheeks yellow. Gravel falls to pavement
like the bottom dropped out. I watch it happen every time.
My therapist says I shouldn’t expect bad outcomes even if they’ve happened
before, says not everyone will mistake your fight for a contest
and flight for a souped-up streetcar instigation, but each time a match
salesman comes to my door, I let them in. There’s one
in my house now, striking grit to light a candle. They must think
my wide-eyed pyromania is some kind of love, not what it is.


Amanda Pszczolkowski is a writer and a lover of bigfoot and crossword puzzles. She graduated from Grand Valley State University with a B.A. in writing in 2021. Her poetry has been published in Voices, Stanchion and Rogue Agent. She lives and writes in Grand Rapids, Michigan.