Two Poems by Molly Dorozenski

Smalltime

It’s ok to do what is easy.
I am amazed every time I say that.
Some days, I might not leave the room.
When I do, I am going to be wary.
I have one special dress left.
I am not going to finish my negroni.
If you stand on the balcony
and look through the wrong end of the binoculars
the balcony is very long and I am very far away.
We were just small people and now you
are just so familiar.
It’s actually very honest.
When I blow out the candle, the smoke lets out,
and slips down into the valley,
unrecoverable from the fog.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Study

I remember what it is like to be disarmed.
The doorframe packed with snow.
Thick leather bellows to fan the flame.
Everything worth learning
in a new kind of dictionary.
When I take note of all the people around me
I panic and my chest feels cold.
Pretty girls everywhere are crying.
I am like a stick insect or a druid
peering into the spyglass. Inside the book,
humans are breathing their wet breath.
Doing and undoing their buttons.
Writing confidently with Bic pens.
Flushing spectacularly clean toilets.
Comparing birthmarks.    I remember you
in the early days.      Ragged notebook paper.
Doorbells.      Nakedness.      Disaster.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Molly Dorozenski Molly Dorozenski

Molly Dorozenski writes poetry and fiction in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. She has a BA in English from Yale University and an MFA in Creative Writing from UMASS Amherst. She is an Editor at Lungfull! Magazine and co-curates Lungfull!’s reading series at Zinc Bar on Sundays. Her poems have been published in places like The Boston Review, American Letters and Commentary and Notnostrums. She works as Greenpeace’s US Media Director, a global organization that campaigns to stop the destruction of our oceans, forests and climate.

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