for the dearest people in the dirtiest places

[new year’s day 2024]

by Madylin Garcia

i found salvation

in the view of the moon

from under your kitchen table.

the way it lit up

the soft sleeping face of

the bleach blond boy beside me

and the puddle i hadn’t

noticed i was laying in,

seeping through my t-shirt.

you’re in the other room

finding sanctuary in

fake satin sheets,

sleeping six to a mattress

and finally letting yourself

be held after all these years,

by arms that carried you from 

the floor to a warm bath

minutes after midnight.

your bathtub tap still drips

so the pipes don’t freeze

and you count the sound like sheep.

while i count quiet breaths

from drunken bodies

curling together for warmth,

and i watch the moon

pass out of view,

paying no mind to our parish.