about the author

Jaime Warburton is a damn fine cook. She writes, teaches, and breathes in Ithaca, NY; her work has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in Storyscape, The Collagist, Silenced Press, Word Riot, and Dark Sky. Visit her online at jaimewarburton.weebly.com.

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The Same Sad as Me

Jaime Warburton

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I’ll finish the wine
in your glass, lick
the maple-crusted pan.

Just tell me what you wore
at your wedding.
Prance with me like meercats.

Isn’t the sky a confusing
feeling tonight, half
storm and half something else. What
do you feel like under it.
I feel like. I feel like.

This is my favorite cheese.
This is my favorite cat.
This is my favorite pair of socks.

Did you play that game with your mother,
when she hides behind your bed
until you swear you’re home
alone, then she jumps out and yells,
“I’m not your mother.”

In the toy store, can you find
the glowing sheep,
the spinning bats, the geodes
dusty and uncracked.
The jaguar crouch, jaguar pounce
flip books half under
discount cards. The silks.

When your husband comes
home, does he find you at your desk
all cigarettes and crumpled starts.
Do you look up.
Do you say, “Let’s watch
the Three Stooges. I need
to see a banana peel and a two-
by-four before bed.”

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