MEG JOHNSON


Meg Johnson's poems have appeared in Slipstream Magazine, Word Riot,
WTF PWM, Blood Lotus, Camroc Press Review, and others. Her poem "Free
Samples" was nominated for Best of the Net. She is currently a poetry
student in the NEOMFA Program, a teaching assistant at the University
of Akron, and the poetry editor for Rubbertop Review. Prior to this, Meg
worked for many years as a dancer, choreographer, dance teacher,
and actress. She blogs at http://megjohnsonmegjohnson.blogspot.com.






M Divided
on Andy Warhol's "Marilyn x 100"

We've lost track
of her, but she always
comes back. Her lips
bucking up, accepting
more lipstick. I say
her eyes are too sad,
you tell me to sit
down for dinner. But
I know what it's like
to have too many
selves, I want to say.
To feel my future ghost,
its gray parts mingling
with my pinkness. You
tell me we'll be late for
the movie. That my body
is sugar and kerosene.






M as Herself as M
on Andy Warhol's "Marilyn x 100"

To play yourself frozen
in time. To play yourself
which plays her. She must
not move a curl from the
last time. This hip must
roll again, like O, never
thrust like a Z. Kisses must
not wilt while years of skin
cells shed like snow.






Live-In

A line on my boyfriend's
forehead runs diagonally
as if one side of his face
has accepted aging more
than the other.

Some days he seems like
a man who has declared
war on himself. The spiral
staircase in his loft looks
like it could collapse from
his weight.

Other days he calls from his
office to ask me if I'm okay
with the current temperature
of his apartment. The staircase
looks larger.

I don't mean to be ferocious with
you. I'm mad at myself
, he says.
Meanwhile, I seem to be getting
younger. Spinning in a desk chair
at 2 am, grunge rock through ear
phones as he sleeps.






Seeing My Boyfriend's Mother in a Swimsuit for the First Time

is plastic red sledding
down the iciest hill. Is
homemade slip 'n slide
made from black trash
bags, sprinkler and hose
water, grass crashes.
Floral clad pelvis
from which came his pelvis.
In Limon dance technique,
they scream running pelvis
which means glide,
but I was seventeen then
and thinking of an army
of asexual bones coming
at me. I'm far from seventeen
now, and still don't know
much about fake gliding.



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