Two poems by Jennifer Cie

slip

tuned to miss damita jo jackson

remember

1.   Green men with shaved faces.
      1.1. Brown clocks with flashy birds
      1.2. Silver plane wings from before
            1.2.1.   They came from blue men in the floating box
      1.3. Ss-tu-tt like in the city but not like we’re home

2.   New, big rooms, one—once had a white paper sign
      2.1. We couldn’t read, yet, so we played in it anyway
      2.2. Metallic sculptures with blinking lights
            2.2.1   Mostly red, but in the car, we counted five white
      2.3. Fffffoar like fort but not like you’re home

3.   Tall, stout women and quiet, bored men
      3.1. Even with pictures, we don’t remember them
      3.2. Pink lemonade in limited edition plastic cups
            3.2.1.   Quiet. Both hands around the cup. That is how to ride on the trolley.
      3.3. Ssnn iif like cry but not like this is our home

4.   Grey whirs of static pulsing gray chunks of fur
      4.1. The house was small with a little hill for our backyard sledding
      4.2. White box dripped on each setting, it did little to cool in summer
            4.2.1.   The new, old, three story if you include the attic opened next
      4.3. Miiimfiss like the city, but not like it was their house

5.   Square boxes—brown, green, yellow, black-gold from the liquor stores
      5.1. I put them in cars, on flimsy shelfs, under milkcrate beds, and $200 annual sales
      5.2. Uncrossed, angled left, crossed, angled almost right, never folded un-shoed
            5.2.1.   That is how I sit on all the planes
      5.3. Souuuoosh like swoosh, but not like knowing home.