[POETRY]

[02/09/26]

So Much Water

Two Poems by Lizzie Scheader

I CANNOT SEEM TO KEEP LIFE DOWN

I AM HANDED A PIECE OF BREAD, WRAPPED IN THE KIND OF PLASTIC YOU CANNOT RECYCLE. IT TASTES SWEET AND FAKE, AND WHEN I PRESS MY FINGER ON IT, THE IMPRINT LINGERS FOR A SECOND. DOCTORS SAY PROGRESS STARTS WHEN YOU QUIT JAYWALKING. IT’S OUTTA HAND AT THIS POINT. I GOTTA QUIT JAYWALKING IF I EVER WANNA HAVE A KID. I WANNA HAVE A KID SO I HAVE SOMEONE TO EXPLAIN HOW TO RENDER ON PHOTOSHOP TO. IF I SAY IT OUT LOUD, IT HELPS ME REMEMBER FOR MYSELF. YOU TRY QUITTING SMOKING, AND THEN YOU GET AN EMAIL. PLEASE, TAP, SURRENDER YOUR VOICE, YOU. I WROTE THAT DOWN WHILE I WAS FALLING ASLEEP THE OTHER NIGHT, AND I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT IT MEANS. I THINK IT HAS TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT EVERYONE IS MOVING SLOWER ON SUNDAYS, AND WHILE WALKING DOWNTOWN, THE SIDEWALK IS PAINTED. IT’S LACKING CONTEXTUAL IMPORTANCE, AND UNDERWHELMING IN SKILL. IF I HAD A PENIS, I THINK I WOULD DECIDE TO PEE ON IT.

OBSIDIAN

FOR A SPLIT SECOND 
I SEE MY NAME, 
WRITTEN BY HAND, 
ON THE SIDE 
OF A BUILDING, 
LOVING HIM LIKE A BROTHER, 
A REAL UNCONDITIONAL LOVER, 
ALWAYS SUCKING 
ON SOME MENTHOL BULLSHIT. 
I’M IN BEREAVEMENT, 
BECAUSE 
I’VE REALIZED 
THEY’RE JUST SAYING WORDS. 
LIKE PENNY, 
REPENT, 
AND WATER. SO MUCH WATER. 
IT MEANS NOTHING, 
NOT SO MUCH, 
AS DAY-DRINKING, 
IN THE MONTH 
OF MAY. 
EVEN THOUGH, 
THESE THINGS HAVE 
OUT-WORSENED 
THEMSELVES. 

From now on, I’m only fucking men with master’s degrees, SHE SAYS.

HOW DO YOU NOT WANT TO DIE HERE? 
I’M BREATHING IN 
THE AIR 
THAT EXITS 
YOUR MOUTH. 

THIS IS 
TAKING 
SPACE, AND 
I GET IT,.

LIZZIE SCHEADER is an artist and writer based in New York.