Ava Chapman
walk around the fucking block
wearing my brother’s sweater
ice pack under to stun the muscle back
pre-panic, re-wind, if you can
will my daughter feel this too
when I hold her will I feel like I am also holding myself
late at night torn as she leaves – the door open
trace my sources out like a vein
everyone before, everyone after
g-d is visiting & whispering in my ear
looking like every version of myself I will ever be
& have ever been
holding. holding.
time is a dam that stops us from breaking
into ourselves, interloped, interspersed
holding. holding.
I want to be my own mother, just for a second
warm my skin, hold my surface
the way you can only love someone other
holding. holding.
my friend has found
a table to eat at, prayers rising
she is reaching through the space between
our fingers, gestures breach our hope
& every incidental harm
everyone I’ve loved in the past I love now
the breath won’t form into words
doctor says if the sickness continues
my throat will kill me
& that is not a metaphor
birthplace
in the future i will install adblock in my dreams
one day my brother will wake with a salient longing for
a samsung refrigerator
& everyone will
but we will install adblock in our dreams
visions of my body in green and blue, circling
a 3 second darkness, empty billboard
small fish hatching, swimming, learning
to move in synchronicity – tadpoles become frogs
furtively
gap in understanding
gap in meaning
gap in, hitch in, break, fracture, loss
short canyon, walking on air
before realize, you are falling
before realize, these desires
are not your own, are not anyone’s
god, does anyone know?
who they are? without?
candy cereal eye level at grocery store
sticking sticky fingers in for a taste
cinnamon crunch, lucky charms,
taught even in hunger
trained even in
cover eyes further darkness immersion in
sensory deprivation, wanting, wanting,
dreaming, dreaming, something like touch
there’s a program for that
we can forget its faults, silicone slight difference
warm skin revelation, real skin, becomes other
stranger, simulate experience
slow gain of consciousness
who among us remembers the womb?
poem where my mom & i go to the moon
once on the moon, we state the obvious ‘we feel floaty’ &
after some experimental jumping, ‘this was not worth giving elon musk our life savings’
sigh
in this life we are rich enough to regret a flight to the moon
like one does ordering a cheese grater on amazon
or a pair of tweezers
or anything else, small passivity under capital
we console ourselves by unwrapping our lunches from their beeswax
& looking at the blue pocked surface
she says, ‘i was reading a book about the moon
–a queer narrative, a prose poem’
something my friends with fresh red tattoos have already posted
sitting on their knees at bus stops, yellow earthair crowding
but i cannot get her to say anything more about it
except will i help her with the starter?
lame cuts through the dough still
& i make flowers on its surface
remember biodiversity
& the small joy of having plants
you will eventually kill
our pots of dry leaves
still in the front yard
we have no luck with life
hipbones too narrow, an aversion
to blood & conflict
in the dark similar night i ask if you thought about me before i was born
you say: not until the very last moment
Ava Chapman has recently been described as “fascinating and terrifying” and they are holding onto that. They have a very laissez-faire approach to art-making but some of it can be found at avarosechapman.com.