Volume 9 (Spring 2015)

Claire Eder

 

 

Getting Away

Miami

 

We will drive in with night pressing the palm trees

up against the noise barriers, JT's latest single

coming on and off the radio—and we will feel old

to have known him so long. The next day

 

we'll do South Beach, stopping first at a gas station

for beer and, finding the price too high,

ford the four-lane road to try the one across the street,

where there will be no beer. We will go back to the first place.

 

We'll get lost on the way, pay forty dollars for parking.

There won't be enough sunblock to go around.

Dave will find us piña coladas somewhere,

and while he's gone we'll talk shit about him.

 

Two of us will get into an argument about a koozie.

A guy will come up saying he lost his girlfriend

somewhere and can he bum a smoke and take a beer

and we'll ask about his tattoo and he'll tell us about

 

his Irish heritage and then take another beer for the road.

We won't be able to help reading the planes' banners

as they circle us. The water will feel all right.

Back at the place, Dave will cut up the mangoes

 

and tend the grill. Our fingers will go a little numb

from gripping whiskey glasses in their cold sweat. What

do we hope to accomplish? To keep Brittany's nineteen-

year-old cousin from lying topless on the pool table,

 

to keep Dave from cheating on his girlfriend with her,

to help Anna feel ok about her body, to regain

control of the playlist, to monitor Phillip's nascent

alcoholism, all of our nascent alcoholisms, and maybe

 

at some point to find some good Cuban food

somewhere. We will return home and say it felt

like another country, but it could have been anywhere;

we would have been, anywhere, the same.

 

 

Claire Eder’s poems and translations have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Subtropics, Midwestern Gothic, The Common, and Guernica. She received her MFA from the University of Florida and is currently pursuing a PhD in poetry at Ohio University.

 

 

On Libations: "My penchant for matcha developed out of a teenage obsession with Starbucks’s green tea Frappuccino. Little did I know that the earthy, smooth taste of the whipped-cream-smothered green slush linked back to the Japanese tea ceremony. At one of my favorite indie cafes in Gainesville, Florida, they offer a matcha latte, prepared using a traditional bowl and bamboo whisk."