Stephanie Kaylor is a writer from upstate New York. She holds a MA in Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies from the University at Albany and is currently finishing a MA in Philosophy at the European Graduate School. Stephanie is Reviews Editor for Glass: A Journal of Poetry and her poetry has appeared in a number of journals including BlazeVOX, The Willow Review, and altpoetics.

Stephanie Kaylor


You opened the door and I wanted to ask you — what happened? The last time I saw you was on the stoop of my Brooklyn summer sublet shooting shit until the night ran out before our half-hearted thoughts or whole- hearted dreams or even the booze you made sure I always had plenty & you had a discount working the liquor store even though you were working the law firm and I laughed about how you got by just with those three shirts, button- down, one black one white one grey, all your belongings in two backpacks, a guitar case, a sweat- less set of arms that didn’t take me but I asked for until you left one morning while I slept off a hangover to go where you needed to go and leave me to try to find something or other to take me too and I cried until I saw a grey shirt on my chair, my own I mistook for yours, forgotten, and I thought it wouldn't be long until you came back for it because even if I could never have you some luck gave me a third of you and there you were, three months later in Manhattan, the black-on-white stripes of a new shirt like slashes upon a canvas yet stark in their precision as the new beard you neither shaved completely nor let run full course or the distinction between having and not-having I thought we had eluded and I wanted to ask you if you had forgotten you could add some stripes to a shirt but that wouldn't make it any warmer. Instead I said nothing, waiting until you took it off and I could try to find you, waiting as you told me to get some sleep, still waiting as I ran out your door into the anonymity of the morning crowds rushing into the cold city stasis and I slammed it behind me as if I could have held you back.

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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