Laura Van Prooyen
Sadness in the Shape of a Phone

You are sagging in my pocket. I cannot let you go.

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Look, a beautiful person is dancing.

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Wasn’t my face meant to be private? Wasn’t yours?

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Think boots. Buy boots from a pop-up ad.

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Webcam penguins waddle through a museum!

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Alexa. What is this I’m feeling?

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The government tracks my sadness.

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I hold the Grecian shore in my palm.

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I watch a MasterClass on hostage negotiation.

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If you put buds in your ears, sadness will listen.

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My fingers shrink and enlarge other people’s successes.

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Sadness once hung on a wall. Had a mouthpiece. A receiver.

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hey period do you want me to pick up anything question mark

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Planes leave white trails across the sky. Sadness fades an outline on my ass.

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Suggested for you: the world’s oldest story and global myths.

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The more you scroll, the more you scroll.

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What can you do with my thumbprint? I don’t want to find out.

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Tracing my steps makes them add up.

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I know by heart many numbers that reach no one.

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The glowing thing I hold is neither an orange nor fire.

 

 

 

 

 

Found In Volume 52, No. 04
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  • Laura Van Prooyen
Laura Van Prooyen
About the Author

Laura Van Prooyen is the author of Frances of the Wider Field (Lily Poetry Review Books), Our House Was on Fire (Ashland Poetry Press), and Inkblot and Altar (Pecan Grove Press, 2006).