Parker Tettleton ~ Four Pieces

I’ll Always Hear From Me

On the blue line today I was try­ing to feel every one of the fifty-nine degrees—I took turns look­ing at the stop-start free­way, at a bill­board cov­ered in graf­fi­ti that read “fuck can­cer,” & at my feet—the lat­ter of which I’m still think­ing about. I want them to know they’re good to me, that they’ve car­ried me & they’ve nev­er said a word. I want to be like that—kind & car­ry­ing & self­less. I’m far away from you & I take a breath every time I remem­ber. I’m alone some­where with myself & I’m qui­et but my qui­et has a sound & it doesn’t sound like a qui­et.

 

Where Do You Get Your Amino Acids?

 

The first sen­tence hits pause twice, checks the inter­net connection—the blinks are the inde­ci­sions, the inci­sions, the con­ver­sions, the con­ver­sa­tions, the hands hold­ing a body: some for­mat of devo­tion. I believe in the prayer of silence, of not ask­ing would I exist at any oth­er time. My feet are crossed, my clothes are clean, my sub­mis­sions note­book has my full name & phone num­ber on the inside of the cov­er, inscribed by my first girl­friend, who shared the los­ing of our vir­gin­i­ty. It’s Wednesday, I’ve cried twice, & I’m so very, very—.

 –

SSSSSSSS

 

I hap­pen to hap­pen where I do, & when, some­times, I want this sen­tence to end it does. Conversely, it lives & fucks up & sucks up & tremors & blinks & I am the only one who cares—who, what, where, how, when is a lie? The sec­ond sen­tence waits for a text mes­sage, side­walks a con­clu­sion to thoughts lead­ing them­selves on emo­tion­al cruis­es. I talk to myself & myself says the sea is the water your thoughts & feel­ings have shit to do with. You mes­sage me that you’re hope­ful. I mean I am too.

Cold Showers

 

The first sen­tence is the aver­age MCAT score. I have six pock­ets on & my blood is swim­ming in November. Trees out­side the win­dow look enough like the ones I grew up near that I bare­ly remember—there’s just more here, I think, piled the fuck up. This blood is so waste­ful. This blood is so side­walk. This blood is the blood of the MCAT tak­en with six pock­ets on in November with trees, most of them outside—because I pile, because I can’t remem­ber, because I’m waste­ful, because I’ve nev­er been swim­ming.

~

Parker Tettleton is a Leo, a veg­an, & a res­i­dent of Portland, Oregon. He has work fea­tured in or forth­com­ing from DUM DUMDiagramGargoyle, & E-ratio, among oth­ers. He is also the author of the col­lec­tion GREENS (Thunderclap Press 2012) as well as the chap­books SAME OPPOSITE (Thunderclap Press 2010) & OURS MINE YOURS (Pity Milk Press 2014). More infor­ma­tion can be found here.