Zoe Stoller is a poet and a senior at the University of Pennsylvania. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in DIALOGIST, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, Supplement, The New Guard, and Word Riot, among others. She is the Assistant Poetry Editor for Cleaver Magazine and the Web Editor for The Adroit Journal. After graduation, she will begin her work as a Teach For America Corps Member, teaching High School English in Philadelphia.

Zoe Stoller

If The Sun Comes Up

Because it whitens and five minutes never repeats. Digging underneath a star. The liquids and I do not shake but brain falls deeply into pit. I am swallowing without cut. Since the body first turned red and synesthesia means itch means temporality murdered prognosis. Three letters and sudden sands. Flames curl upward and nip the knife. Clonic but there is no Y and I valproate as single for acute. It does not work and swirls in chest, no smoke. There exists splotch otherwise and hairs pour gently. Pliable without separation. Ylang ylang and rosewood is charity and eat the price minus taxes. We let fingers absorb the skin. And you're doing a world of good and nicely done and there is something, a smell good with humans. Three letters. Gooseberry radiance does not exist. I am but a lemon, paraben- free. Nicely done. No lines nor dark nor edging back to eyes. Colorants growing from wrists. It is ideal and I protect Australia from lies and poster left at home. Each time the bump produces, stains my bed. I only wear my nose. Cleaning and this household is a stapler. Precision in tips without wonder in my ears. The ribs do not lay flat. I only have it for one reason. Silky hair the enemy, sustenance caught in breasts. It glides customizable orange. What it is an hourglass and there are tricks subsiding speech. Long after panel survey, done what it is what is it. We can all be wolverine. Brows exist within canthus and face does not lean to sun. Nicely done and is nothing without unique. Makes the color pop with age without remembering. Purchased as skin dissolved and hair not yet highlighting lips. I cannot find the patent or the note. In order to maximize and point lost in language. And you'll adore the bottle. And one eye looks the other way. And I wake up and am elsewhere, and that is all.

I wrote this poem for a creative writing class at Penn taught by poet Kenneth Goldsmith, in which we studied fashion and consumerism as a lens through which to create literature. In this poem, I discuss my morning routine and the ingredient descriptions of products I use, while also dipping into associated language and memories. Working with Kenny for the past few years has been instrumental in my development as a writer, and so I am dedicating this to him.

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.